Taken On Trust
by Ann3
Summary: Beckett's greatest strength can also be his greatest weakness. Yep, poor Carson gets whumped again ! I hope you enjoy, please R&R !
1. Chapter 1 Deadly Deceptions

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I must be going yampy in my old age !! I've just been transferring my fanfic from floppies to DVD on my new 'putie - and I found this lonely, unsubmitted little thing moping around in its folder.

For my regular readers and reviewers, this is the one which inspired I Suppose This Means I've Failed (although you need to wait for chapter six to find out how !)

So I thought I'd put it out of its misery and get it uploaded - eight chapters in all, hopefully through this weekend.

Speaking of misery - who's up for some good old fashioned Beckett whumping ? You are ? Oh good - hopefully you won't be disappointed... ;o)

Reviews, comments and suggestions, as always, very much welcomed !

Chapter One

Deadly Deceptions

It was the situation he always dreaded. One that John Sheppard still couldn't believe was happening.

A simple goodwill mission to the people of Vora had now become his worst private nightmare. From an act of betrayal which, if truth be told, he now kicked himself for not suspecting sooner, a member of his team was now in trouble. _Serious_ trouble.

All the help and firepower he needed to end that nightmare was just a click on his headset away. But with that means of contact also still in hostile hands, that option, for now, wasn't open to him. The Vorans were holding enough aces as it was, without being privy to any retaliation against them.

Through no fault of his own, Carson Beckett topped that potentially disastrous list of advantages - his life now held at the point of a knife, its blade pressed, with deadly accuracy, against his neck.

Along with his mounting anger and frustration, John Sheppard now silently kicked himself for not spotting the warning signs of trouble. He really should have learned by now - missions of mercy to seemingly helpless communities tended to go belly up, _big_ time.

This latest one, to cure a plague which threatened to wipe out the people of Vora, was no exception. And, in time honoured tradition, none of them had seen it coming.

As soon as their distress call had reached Atlantis, Carson Beckett hadn't needed to hear any more - his medical brilliance promised to them, for as long as they needed it, without a second's hesitation.

Watching his friend wince, in helpless pain at how roughly his captors now controlled him, John felt a further swell of bile rise in his throat. How deeply Carson must be regretting that decision now. How sorely he must be cursing that part of his nature which had been so cruelly exploited - the compassionate trust in human goodness which, yet again, had been savagely turned against him.

Less than an hour ago, that compassion had been unbreakably intact. Now it had been brutally shattered.

Damn it, John now silently railed at himself, how the hell had he missed such an obvious set up for an ambush...?

As they'd walked through the Voran camp, Carson had been covertly separated from the rest of the team. Circling their saviour, pressing ever closer against him, they had timed his taking to perfection

Shyly flattered by all their hugging, handshaking gratitude, Carson Beckett hadn't known what hit him. Gagged with painful abruptness across his mouth, he'd not even had time to cry out in protest.

By the time John Sheppard spun around in response, realized what had happened, it was all over – the deadly glint of metal lodged at Carson's throat instantly ending all thoughts of protesting reprisal.

Held in this truly deadly embrace by his captors, Carson Beckett hadn't moved a muscle since – especially when the Voran leader had, in quietly brutal menace, warned him what would happen if he did.

"I do not wish to kill you, Dr Beckett, you are too valuable for that. But I will _not_ tolerate resistance..."

To prove his point, he'd then pressed his knife, with clinical slowness, against Carson's collar bone – deep enough to leave yet another stain on his prisoner's shirt, forcing out another helpless gasp of pain

And it was this needless torture of his friend that grated on John Sheppard's already outraged nerves. Carson Beckett, their gently trusting CMO, was the last person in the world to deserve such treatment.

He knew, in silent fury, that it was this very compassion which had made Carson such an easy target. He knew, too, from bitter experience, that the longer this standoff went on, the worse things would get.

Carson's thoughts had clearly followed the same track, and come to the same terrifying conclusion – his wide, terrified eyes still pleadingly locked on the only person who could stop it from happening.

But John Sheppard's hands were tied as tightly as his own. Carson knew that, all too despairingly well. All the time his captors had that damn knife at his throat, John Sheppard simply dared not intervene.

His captor knew it too, gloatingly revelling in the power and control that now rested within his hands – savouring the rush of power at this ability to hold another defenceless life completely at his mercy.

He wasn't going to kill his captive, of course. He was too valuable, _much_ too rarely valuable, for that. And to injure him, to mark him too severely, would lessen his potentially ground-breaking return.

But at the same time, he had to be shown, left in no doubt whatsoever, as to where his life now lay. Heard only by one helpless, utterly terrified mind, he continued to brutally break his captive's spirit.

"Your life is _mine_ now, Dr Beckett. _I _own you now, body and soul, and I will do with you as I please. I have _complete_ control over you, doctor. Whether you live, or whether you die, rests in _my_ hands…"

Pressing his spare hand, with sickening thoroughness, along Carson's shoulders, he then nodded – this apparent sign of approval carrying an undercurrent of debasing, unthinkable horror.

"You are impressively strong, doctor. And gifted most generously with the powers of the Ancestors. Yes, I have _many_ clients who will handsomely pay for such a unique, healthily productive body as this. And with your medical skills, you will fetch me the very best price for my trouble in acquiring you…"

A voice that had just so cruelly praised him now dropped to a tone determined to inflict pure terror.

"But until I can guarantee a price that justifies my efforts, your body and your mind belong to _me_. I _own_ you. And as you have learned, doctor, I do not tolerate resistance from my… _merchandise_…"

Through a mind already frozen in terror, that last phrase now caused Carson's blood to run even colder. If not for the perverse irony of his captor keeping him upright, he would have collapsed in sheer shock

Yes, he was _immeasurably_ valuable to the people of Vora. Just never in ways that he'd ever imagined

'_Oh_, _dear God_… _they_'_re_ _bloody slave traders_…!'

More thoughts swam through his mind now, breaking his spirit where his captor had so far failed.

'_Laura_… _oh_, _dear God_, _lass_… _thank_ – _thank God ye canna see me like this_…'

She'd know by now, of course, that he'd been taken prisoner by the very people he'd gone to help. And knowing his 'feisty wee lassie', Laura Cadman would be straining at the leash to get him back.

He could almost picture her face now, its beauty transformed by pure fury at this debasing torment – hear that outrage alongside him, urging him to fight for the life which they both cherished so much.

'_Come on_, _baby_, _fight_…! _Damn it_, _if anyone round here has dibs on your body_, _it_'_s me_. _Now_, _fight_…!'

God, yes, he _wanted_ to fight. More than anything, Carson wanted to regain his brutally abused dignity. He wanted, more than anything in the world, to be back on Atlantis, lovingly wrapped in Laura's arms

How, though…? Tied so savagely tightly, how the hell was he supposed to get himself free…?

They were dragging him back through the camp now, forcing him towards their means of escape. And however basic those means were, Carson Beckett still knew one brutally unavoidable fact. Once his captors got him tied up on one of those horses… well, Carson knew he was as good as dead.

Even with Ronon's tracking skills, once they got him into such dense woodland, the chances of being found – no, whatever the risk, whatever the dangers, Carson Beckett knew he simply couldn't let that happen. However high the likelihood of being seriously hurt, even killed, in the attempt, he _had_ to get away.

Carson's only comfort, albeit a tenuous one, was the outraged fury on John Sheppard's face – the promise it silently conveyed lending him vital strength for the make-or-break battle to come.

'_We_'_re_ _not gonna leave you here_, _Carson_… _one way or another_, _we_'_re_ _gonna get you back_…'

Carson Beckett had needed that promise to hold onto, just to assure him that all was not yet lost. He'd needed that precious flicker of hope that, against all odds, he _would_ see his 'lovely wee lass' again

Now all that was cruelly snatched away from him as he was lifted onto one of the waiting horses – a flurry of hands roughly hoisting his frantically struggling body to lie face-down across its back.

Perhaps as punishment for his defiance, they'd positioned him across the high hub of its saddle – its deep grating into his stomach causing him to gasp, in helpless pain, as he tried to wriggle clear.

He was on the verge of succeeding when those inescapable hands pulled him roughly back again – deadly metal against his neck, a soft hiss of warning, instantly crushing both his strength and his spirit

"I will not warn you again, Dr Beckett. Your life is _mine_ now, and I will _not_ tolerate your resistance..."

Leaning closer, his tormentor then drove the tip of that metal, and his point, slowly and savagely home

"Do not test my patience, Dr Beckett, or you will pay the price of defying me… do _not_ struggle…"

Too dazed with fear and pain to even try, Carson struggled instead to hold back a sob of frustration as his wrists and ankles were bound in chafing cords to the saddle's girth-strap.

With his captor's knee now jammed against his shoulder, Carson couldn't have moved now anyway. And the blade of that knife still rested ominously against his neck, quashing all hopes of resistance.

Another thankfully unpunished moan of pain escaped him as the horse beneath him began to move – the trotting movement of its shoulders, carried through its saddle, driving relentlessly into his stomach

If this was the Voran way of breaking their prisoners' resistance… well, it was bloody effective. God, it was agony. Each and every movement sent rock hard leather slamming ever deeper into him. And despite his captor's threats of punishment, at an all out gallop his cries rose to an all out scream

The doctor in him could feel the damage which that unyielding hub was inflicting inside his body. Both his spleen and his colon, in agonizing turn, were taking one hell of a potentially deadly battering. If either were to tear or rupture… well, he wouldn't need to worry about being sold into slavery. He would be dead long before his new owners could make use of their latest acquisition.

And there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_, that Carson could do to either stop it or escape from it.

Through a haze of pain and galloping hooves, he could hear his captors gloating over his capture – the humiliation of being so cruelly duped igniting a fuse that led straight to pure Scottish dynamite. Damn it, he was so tired, so bloody sick and tired, of his trusting compassion being exploited like this.

Resentment silently festered into anger, working ironic wonders in clearing Carson Beckett's head. Was he really going to let these barbarians control him like this…? Enslave him…? Kill him…?

Like hell he was. And he'd bet his threatened life that John Sheppard felt exactly the same way.

In contrast, his captors had allowed victory to cloud theirs, making them careless. Unwisely negligent. Unseen, unfelt, Carson now used the most brutal means of their control over him to his own benefit.

From his own horse's movements, the Voran leader's knife had shaken loose from his belt. Its already tainted blade now swung tantalisingly against his boot, just inches from his captive's face. And there was just enough slackness in the ropes around his wrists for Carson's fingers to reach it.

Gritting his teeth, Carson pulled the source of both his suffering and salvation into sweat-slick hands – venting its resultant pain, all his fear and anger, in a single cry as he drove its point deep into his palm.

The jarring knee against his cheekbone made his senses swim even more, but Carson didn't care. All he cared about was the precious flow of blood, _his_ blood, as it ran freely onto the ground below.

He'd done all he could, even managing to wipe dripping finger-tips against a thick mass of bushes. Now it was up to Ronon's unique skills, John Sheppard's equally famous tenacity, to follow its trail.

His senses were sliding now, pain and pure terror taking their toll on the little strength he had to spare. As darkness rushed inexorably over him, Carson closed his eyes and silently welcomed its blessing.


	2. Chapter 2 Damage Control

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Yes, yes, I know - damn rotten of me to torture the poor wee thing in the very first chapter ! More to come, of course, but... well, before he gets _too_ badly whumpified, we'd better get a rescue plan laid out. Okay, Shep - you're up... ;o)

Chapter Two

Damage Control

John Sheppard's day had started out perfectly happily. Now it was ending in his worst nightmare. For all his attempts to avert its consequences, Carson Beckett was now a prisoner of a dangerously volatile enemy – two soft words summing up every bit of his anger, every bit of his frustration, for letting it happen

"Oh, _crap_…"

Leaving the fretting panic to its unrivalled master, he left McKay to it and turned instead to Ronon.

"If we don't find him soon, the doc's done for… can you track him…?"

"I'll find him…" Ronon vowed fiercely, already sprinting, hell for leather, into the adjoining forest.

Following at full pelt beside him, McKay and Teyla on his heels, John thumbed his radio. He'd already lost one member of his team to the Vorans' treachery. He was damned if he'd lose any more.

Carson's headset, unwisely discarded by his captors, now lay smashed and useless in John's hand. To horrified dismay, its owner had been spirited away in a flurry of dust and horse-hooves. At full gallop, Carson Beckett and his captors were already lost from view.

But at least now John Sheppard could turn their denial of tracing his captive friend back to Carson's benefit. That, at least, granted him some measure of satisfaction as he fought to match Ronon's massive stride.

"All teams, this is Sheppard… we have a hostile situation… I repeat, we have a hostile situation… forget the goodwill mission, all Jumpers get into orbit and await orders… Lorne, do you read…?"

"Loud and clear, sir… we figured something was wrong when you didn't check in, sir, and…"

"Yeah, we were kinda tied up at the time, chatting with our charming hosts…" Sheppard cut in dryly – using this outburst of bitter sarcasm to clear potentially disastrous, non-productive anger out of his mind. A slow deep breath dispelled the rest, allowing the strength of a military leader to make a vital return.

"The Vorans have taken Beckett hostage, and without his headset we've no way of tracking him. Ronon's gonna pick up his trail through the forest, and I need you to keep a fix on our position. Once we find him and get him out of there, we're gonna need _instant_ evac, so stay close… understood…?"

"Roger that, sir… we'll be tracking you all the way… Lorne out…"

Breaking the connection, Sheppard then hurried across to join McKay and Teyla at Ronon's side – the ominous redness on the Satedan's fingers causing him to curse in the sheer irony of its blessing.

How strange it felt to be grateful to a trail of blood, a friend's blood, in the race to save his life. And if the frequent regularity of that trail was anything to go by, they were going to have to find him _fast_.

The race to save a friend's life, Carson Beckett's life, was now well and truly under way – John Sheppard's quiet words speaking for himself, his shellshocked team - and a city which, however gently Lorne had broken the news, had just had one hell of a bombshell dropped on it.

"Hang in there, Carson… hold on, we're gonna get you out of this… just hang in there…"

Seeing McKay staring, ashen faced, at something in his hand, John hurried across to find its cause – the cause of Rodney's stricken expression instantly mirrored on three other faces around him

The broken remains of Carson's watch, its strap still wetly tainted with blood, rested in his fingers – the responsibility for his friend's ordeal pressing with visible strain on the scientist's shoulders.

"I – I thought I was doing Carson a favour, that – that praising him up like that would help him gain their trust, and… and…"

"Hey, come on, Rodney, we haven't lost him yet… we're gonna get him back…" John cut in softly, drawing on all the past experience he'd had to keep McKay from falling apart at the hysterical seams. "But if we're to get Carson out of this, we're _all_ gonna have to keep our heads... _okay_…?"

Waiting until a shaky smile finally answered him, John then gave McKay's shoulder a heartening pat.

"And keep that safe…" he added gently, nodding towards the bloodied watch in Rodney's hand – making a point of holding the scientist's haunted eyes so that they could draw strength from his own. "That way you can fix it and give it back to him when we get him back to Atlantis… _okay_…?"

Managing a shaky nod this time, McKay then hurried with him to catch up with Teyla and Ronon – the snarking nickname which he'd _never_ dare voice to the Satedan's face replaced by silent hope that 'Conan' could somehow save his best friend's life

For several hours, through dense, ever darkening forest, the race to find and free Carson Beckett from his captors continued.

Twice in one of those hours alone, they lost the trail. On both those occasions, the second especially, Ronon had to use all the skills he had to regain it.

At a muddy riverbank, they lost it again. For fifteen terrifying minutes, Carson Beckett was lost to them

Then, at last, as night fell over a blessedly moonlit clearing, they finally found him - John Sheppard's stunned silence still conveying volumes of helpless fury, utter disgust, as he struggled to take in his friend's unthinkable fate.


	3. Chapter 3 Caveat Emptor

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I must admit that I've re-used a previous idea in this chapter - I hope you'll agree that it works ! And as its title suggests, buyers really _should_ beware... especially when their 'purchase' comes from a certain part of Scotland !

Chapter Three

Caveat Emptor

Even with his state of the art field glasses, John Sheppard still couldn't believe the scene within them. From the moment this nightmare had started, he'd wondered why Carson Beckett had been kidnapped by the very people he'd gone to help. Now, as he stared once more through his binoculars, those reasons outraged John Sheppard as much as they sickened him.

Stripped to the waist, now tied to a roughly hewn pole, their CMO was thankfully easy to pick out – his exposed body confirming John's worst fears of how brutally Carson's resistance had been subdued.

Bruised and bloodied, his friend now hung limply from the ropes that bound his wrists above him. Totally reliant on those bonds to keep him upright, Carson was either unconscious or not far from it.

His eyes, perhaps mercifully for the humiliation of what was now being done to him, were closed – remaining so even as his captor forced his mouth open, running rough fingers along his teeth, before excitedly inviting the crowd around him to do the same.

And it was recognition of where this brutal spectacle was heading that now enraged John Sheppard – a curse of heartfelt fury escaping him, as Carson all but disappeared under a flurry of prodding, probing hands.

"Those _bastards_…"

Equally horrified, Teyla and Ronon had worked it out too. Perhaps thankfully, Rodney McKay hadn't.

"Who – Who the hell are they…?" he asked at last, still staring at the bizarre sight before him – his best friend, lashed to a pole, surrounded by richly robed figures who found him _highly_ interesting. "Why are they crowding round him like that, poking and prodding him, as if they were going to…?"

McKay then fell silent, his eyes wide, his face visibly paling, as horrified realisation finally dawned.

"Oh, dear God… they're – they're…"

"They're transactors… traders in people and skills…" Ronon finished for him, his tone warningly low. "There was talk about them on Sateda… never seen 'em in action, though…"

Still unused to human tact and diplomacy, he then drove an already obvious point reduntantly home.

"This whole virus thing was a trick… a ruse to get the doc's help so they could…"

"...sell him and his knowledge to the highest bidder…" John cut in softly, radiating the same disgust – furious eyes still watching the sickening sight of human slavery, alive and well in the Pegasus galaxy.

His only comfort, one he swiftly acted upon, was that now, at least, the odds had evened out a little. Yes, their CMO's life still lay under terrifying threat – bartered now into hands other than his own.

But they'd found him, and Carson Beckett was still alive. Now, at least, he could call in the cavalry.

"Lorne, this is Sheppard… we've found him… what's your position…?"

"Half a mile from you, sir… cloaked in a clearing due west of your location… ready to come in…"

"Okay, Lorne, hold position… and keep the door open, 'cos we'll be coming in hot…"

"Roger that, sir, we'll be here… just get _our_ doc back where he belongs, sir… we'll do the rest…"

Breaking the connection, John Sheppard allowed himself just the trace of an approving smile. Like everyone else on Atlantis, his second in command had been incensed by their CMO's abduction. In fact, John could almost picture the queue of furious volunteers lining up with Lorne to get him back

Atlantis took care of her own. Those who dared to threaten any of her number were asking for trouble. And for these ruffians to have snatched one of the most popular people in the city…? Unforgiveable.

Ronon Dex had only been part of that number for a few months, but he'd already proven his worth – his quiet, typically blunt voice dragging John's attention back to the daunting task ahead of them.

"They've agreed a trade for him… if we're to take 'em by surprise…"

Nodding in terse agreement, John Sheppard continued to anxiously scan the clearing below them – breathing a silent sigh of relief that the Vorans still appeared completely oblivious to their presence. Then again, he bitterly reflected, their latest acquisition was, in cruellest irony, proving to be one hell of a useful distraction.

Through the miracle of his uniquely sensitive mind, though, Carson Beckett knew they were there – just the faintest of smiles ghosting across his face as his captors untied him and dragged him behind his new owners

They'd found him. Thank God, they'd _found_ him.

He was still a prisoner, though – being hauled, without a shred of dignity, towards that bloody horse. But this albeit bruised and battered Scottish boy now had a few aces of his own tucked up his sleeve.

After beating it so soundly out of him, Carson doubted whether his captors would expect any further resistance. And he _seriously_ doubted whether many Vorans had experienced a greeting from Glasgow.


	4. Chapter 4 All Sales Cancelled

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Okay, so Carson's been found - yay !!! Now all he needs to do is get away from the bad guys. It's a good thing the wee lad has such a hard head !!

Just a quick reference to that now famous scene from Rising, and Thirty Eight Minutes here, along with my eternal thanks to whoever invented the Glaswegian kiss !!

Chapter Four

All Sales Cancelled

Their first meeting may not have been the most promising where friendships were concerned. Even now, the merest mention of the 'd' word made both of them wince. And heaven help anyone who made the mistake of saying it anywhere near their CMO during their physical exam.

Yet from that mutually hair raising experience, John Sheppard and Carson Beckett had still forged a very special bond. Perhaps it was the unique genetic powers which they shared, but their minds seemed to be instinctively linked.

Just weeks after that first meeting, this uncanny linking of thoughts had saved John Sheppard's life – Carson the first to catch on to his desperate, make-or-break plan to get that damn life-sucking bug off his neck.

Their CMO's intuition and medical brilliance had come to the fore that day, never again to be doubted. John needed that same intuition now to get that CMO, his surrogate brother, back in safe hands.

Even as it reeled in pain and exhaustion, Carson's mind had already sensed their closeness. In spite of his terror and pain, the extreme strain he was under, he hadn't betrayed their position

Now, as his captors continued to drag him across the ground, Carson forced his lolling head upright – his eyes drifting sideways, thankfully unnoticed, to draw comfort and strength from unseen others.

Rodney. Teyla. Ronon. They were all there. All silently promising him that they _would_ get him back.

When his eyes reached those of John Sheppard, the expression within them imperceptibly changed – a sudden calmness carrying the unique understanding that had always existed between them.

Within that change, John Sheppard had read something else, too, that none of the others had noticed. Something that made him, with undetectable smoothness, slowly adjust his grip on his P90 as he whispered an urgent alert to the rest of his team.

"Carson's planning something… get ready…"

To his open relief, McKay's potentially disastrous giveaway yelp of disbelief failed to materialise. Instead he just nodded, in still anxious acknowledgement, leaving Ronon to softly mutter it for him.

"He's no warrior, Sheppard… and look at the state of him… how can you expect him to fight…?"

"I _kinda_ think that's the idea. They won't be expecting it either, so just _be_ _ready_…" John hissed back – turning away again, to pass another of those vital, uniquely private messages to their captive friend.

'…_whatever you_'_re_ _planning_, _Carson_, _we_'_ve_ _got_ _you covered_…'

It may have been a trick of still blindingly strong sunlight, but the stricken face seemed to relax a little. There was no such doubt, though, over the abrupt, far more pronounced relaxing of Carson's body. Its sudden collapse came as a complete, shocking surprise to everyone who now witnessed it. And where his captors were concerned, that was exactly what Carson Beckett had been counting on.

As his startled captor struggled to haul his deadweight body upright, a single leg lashed outwards – the consequent doubling over of its target giving Carson just the precious few seconds he needed.

Taking advantage of every one of them, he wriggled and struggled until he regained vital balance.

With strength borne of pure adrenalin, Carson then slammed his forehead against that of his captor – a second, even harder impact causing captor and captive alike to stagger a few vital, precious feet apart

John Sheppard's P90 now gladly did the rest – which, all things considered, was really just as well. Having Glaswegian kissed his way to freedom, Carson Beckett was in no fit state for a second attempt

His next, groggy-headed awareness as he crashed to the ground was a flurry of motion and noise around him. Teyla was already at his side, standing protectively over him. John and Ronon were keeping his captors safely at bay under further volleys of gunfire, while Rodney gently untied his hands – two stricken blue eyes swimming back at him through rapidly falling darkness.

Carson tried, with all his strength, to find a smile for him. All that effort was wasted, though, as his face fell suddenly, and terrifyingly, slack - a horrified yell of his name falling on senseless ears.

"Carson...!"


	5. Chapter 5 The Stuff Of Nightmares

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Ah, safety at last. Now, hands up all of you who think the nightmare's over...? Hmm, can't see too many waving handies out there - awww, I'm so flattered... you all know me so well... ;o)

There's a quick reference to Poisoning The Well, and the SG1 episode Heroes, just to up the angst levels. Enjoy !!

Chapter Five

The Stuff Of Nightmares

Between hightailing it back to Jumper One and leaving Vora, a minor miracle had taken place. On top of all the doctorates that he never tired of citing, Rodney McKay had somehow gained an MD.

Quite how the Pegasus galaxy's worst hypochondriac had acquired such abilities was anyone's guess – especially since he'd just barked out the orders while Teyla, with astonishing calm, carried them out.

But there hadn't been time to snarkily ask what qualified _him_ to commandeer the Jumper's first aid kit. Battered and bloodied, deeply unconscious, Carson Beckett had needed help, however unlikely the source - and he'd needed it _fast_.

So instead John Sheppard had just nodded, accepting his role as chief nurse in silent compliance – snapping pads of gauze, tape and antiseptic swabs into Teyla's hands as though he'd been born to it

In fact, they'd all become amateur doctors during those first, fraught minutes aboard Jumper One – all playing their part in the fight to bring their CMO back to life, while Lorne arrowed them to safety.

It had been a terrifying, uphill battle.

The knife wounds to Carson neck, hand, and along his collar bone had been thankfully superficial – the bleeding from them easily controlled, blessedly stopped, by field dressings from his medical kit. The effects of its loss, though, the depth of his unconsciousness, had been another matter entirely

Throughout the scrambling dash for their lives from a mob of incensed Vorans, he'd not stirred once. Slung for speed's sake over Ronon's shoulder, he'd hung silent right through a jarring, all out sprint – his body deadweight, his arms banging with the same unnerving slackness against the Satedan's back

Laid, in hasty speed, on one of the seatbanks, he'd not moved, or flinched, or even groaned in protest. Even as his eyes now flickered blessedly open, the depth of terror within them was pitiful to see. It was taking all of Teyla's legendary calm, and much of her strength, to break that terror's grip.

Concussed and traumatised, in deep shock from his ordeal, he lay shaking helplessly in her arms – struggling against her, for several harrowing seconds, as his brutalised mind refused to release him.

It was from sheer exhaustion, more than anything else, that he finally, and thankfully, calmed down – sobs of helpless terror giving way, with painful slowness, to a faint, precious whisper of recognition.

"T – 'yla...?"

One word, one name, more mouthed than spoken – but it had been the breakthrough they'd prayed for. Even so, it now took another massive demand on Teyla's strength not to betray her own emotions – her voice still choking, in bitter fury at his suffering, even as she continued to gently comfort him.

"Yes, Carson... it is alright, you're safe now... you're safe now, Carson... it's alright, try to lie still..."

In too much pain, too weak, to argue, Carson simply nodded, squinting dazedly around him – realisation that he was, indeed, finally back in safe hands working a near miracle in calming him down. He even managed a trace of a smile as Rodney, John, even Ronon, grinned their own encouragement – following that with a sigh of pure gratitude as Teyla laid a soothingly damp cloth across his forehead.

"Mmm, tha's l'vely, l'ss… aye, jus' – jus' lov'ly…"

Revived enough by its coolness to notice a small graze on her forearm, he then frowned once more – his unbreakable concern for others still strong enough, despite his own pain, to make itself heard.

"T'yla…? 're – 're ye alr'ght, lass…?"

"I am fine, Carson… do not worry, we are _all_ safe now…" she soothed him, still stroking his temple – warned by another wincing gasp of pain to tighten her arms around him, holding him gently closer. "Sh, it's alright, Carson, you're safe now… you're safe with us now, nothing more can hurt you…"

Alerted by the tension in her voice, John Sheppard was already reaching again for Carson's shoulder – sharing with her, and the rest of his team, a silent prayer of thanks as Carson thankfully quietened.

With the immediate crisis over, he then led the way in restoring some much needed normality – giving Carson's shoulder a gentle pat of encouragement, before casting Teyla a genuinely proud smile.

"Yeah, Carson, just let Teyla here take care of you, and we'll have you home in no time... okay...?"

Glassy blue eyes squinted up at him for a moment, before they creased into an all out frown – the sleepily mumbled cause for that frown prompting a quiet wave of relieved, much needed laughter. Even when concussed and barely conscious, Carson Beckett could still find something to worry about

"'f – 'f it's no' _you_ doin' the flyin' f'r us, son, th'n who th' blo'dy hell is...?"

"It's okay, doc..." John Sheppard said at last, still grinning while he nodded towards the cockpit. "Lorne's up there, doing the honours, so you're still in safe hands... just rest and take it easy, okay...?"

The frown lingered for a further few moments, before Carson managed a sleepily lopsided grin – all further concerns over who was flying him home melting away as Teyla stroked back his hair.

Even as he gratefully watched her, Rodney McKay couldn't help but raise a peevishly miffed point.

"Hey, how come I don't get all this Florence Nightingale treatment when _I_ get hurt…?"

Never one to miss a chance for some teasing, especially when needed as badly as this, John grinned.

"Must be those big, beautiful, baby blue eyes… _right_, doc…?" he suggested with a playful wink – Rodney's inevitable, sulky reminder that '_I_ have blue eyes too…' falling on conveniently deaf ears.

On the plus side, though, his pouting glare also coaxed out another faint but still so precious smile.

"Mus' be…" Carson agreed, the grin even widening slightly as Rodney pulled a face back at him – some of the guilt he still felt over his friend's ordeal lifted by a familiar, blessedly affectionate insult

"Och, stop yer sulkin', ye daf' bug'er…"

Beyond all the teasing, though, those baby blue eyes were starting to drift closed once more – prompting another gently chivvying call from John Sheppard to persuade him to open them again.

"Hey, Carson, stay with us… come on, buddy, we're almost home… you've got to stay awake…"

"Yes, Carson, you have a severe concussion..." Teyla cut in softly, still stroking his forehead. "I know how much you must want to sleep, Carson, but you cannot. You _must_ stay awake…"

"'ye, l'ss, I – I know… need t' – t' ke'p me 'wake… ke – ke'p me t'lkin'…" Carson agreed – frowning, in puzzled surprise, as another voice behind him gruffly compelled him to do just that.

"Took guts to leave that trail, doc… real courage… you should be proud…"

Moving away from the partitioning bulkhead, Ronon now ambled back into Carson's field of view – clearly determined to play his part in keeping him conscious as he planted himself at Carson's feet.

"This kiss from Glasgow, doc… it's good… effective… tell me where you learned it…"

Listening to albeit rambling tales of Glasgow nightlife, John Sheppard allowed himself a weary smile. In terms of height, build, attitudes and temperament, these two were as different as chalk and cheese.

Yet there was a unique bond between them, which surpassed each and every one of those differences – a mutual respect which, given the circumstances of their first meeting, was all the more incredible.

Was it really just a few short months since the Satedan had kept his team at such deadly gunpoint…? With their lives under constant threat of attack, they'd both changed so much since then, of course.

Carson, especially, had come a long way, a _hell_ of a long way, since his first jittery days on Atlantis – although, John now privately realised, his most deeply held fear over life in the Pegasus galaxy would now, surely, _never_ change.

For as long as they'd been on Atlantis, their CMO had vehemently hated going off-world. He'd only recently revealed, over a quiet heart-to-heart in the Commissary, the tragic reason why – a mission during his time at the SGC, where the woman he'd secretly loved had been brutally killed in front of him.

From that, and the horrors he'd just been through, a long running joke had now lost all its humour. Only now could John Sheppard appreciate the courage it took for him to step through the Stargate. Had enough of his brutalised trust survived for Carson Beckett to ever go through it again…?

It was too soon to answer that question, of course. You didn't need any medical knowledge to know that Carson Beckett's injuries were going to keep him off his feet for some time. And the mental scars of what he'd just been through would take longer still to heal.

But John Sheppard had already privately answered his own question. If there were lives in danger, either on Atlantis or an off-world planet, Carson Beckett would be there. He'd put his fears and personal tragedy aside, then push himself to his physical limits, frequently go way beyond those limits, to protect and save life.

So yes, John knew that, in spite of this horrific ordeal, his friend _would_ step through the Gate again.

And yet, he sadly reflected, Carson Beckett would be safer, _much_ safer, if he stayed on Atlantis. It was where he belonged... where he could potter about in his Infirmary, doing what he did best.

Not that John doubted his courage. He'd just seen Carson's bravery proven, in all ways possible, but – well, every time he took their CMO off-world, he tended to return deeply scarred by the experience.

Even before they'd come to Atlantis, stepping through the Stargate had torn Carson Beckett's world apart. Back at the SGC, he'd seen Janet Fraiser blasted to death in front of his helpless, horrified eyes. And the tragedy on Hoff had left a wound on his conscience which, John knew, would never fully heal

On every mission since, part of his idealism, his faith in human nature, had been cruelly stripped away. The gentlest soul that he'd had ever met was being turned into something he'd never wanted to be – a doctor completely dedicated to saving lives, so often forced to go against everything he believed in.

And now this. Kidnapped, tortured and sold into slavery on a _supposedly_ piece of cake mission.

Wonderful.

John couldn't remember when he'd felt so tired, so angry, as he studied the brutalised face beside him

'_Damn it_, _Carson_, _I_ _shouldn_'_t have allowed this to happen_… _you shouldn_'_t_ _be going through this_...'

Irony had a truly cruel sense of timing as another soft groan rose from the seatbank beside him – the proud history of 'Glaswegian kissing' taking more strength than Carson Beckett had to spare.

As several more tremors of pain shook their way through him, Teyla held him very carefully closer. Tears of sympathy stung her own eyes as Carson struggled through his agony to find a smile for her – the relief of safety tempered, inevitably, by the terror and pain he'd suffered at the hands of his captors

"I – I kn'w you'd fin' me, l'ss… knew you'd fin' me, an'… an' ge' me back…"

Still sickened by the brutality which they'd inflicted upon him, Teyla softly kissed his forehead – gently comforting him, with both her voice and her touch until, at last, that terror faded from his eyes.

"Of course we were going to find you, Carson… we were _never_ going to let them take you from us…"

That won her a shakily faint smile – followed, eventually, by an equally weak whisper of gratitude.

"'ye, lass, I know... an' – an' ye make a won'erful nurse..."

"I have learned from a truly wonderful teacher..." Teyla replied, favouring him with another gentle kiss – perhaps thankfully oblivious to John Sheppard's dry grin, the mutters of disdain from Rodney McKay

Their relief was short-lived, though, as that precious smile suddenly fell away from Carson's face – the welcome humour of just seconds earlier overwhelmed, yet again, by a delirium of terror and pain. Even huddled in the warmth of their jackets, he now lay shaking, increasingly violently, beneath them

His fretful ramblings, too, had re-started. To mounting alarm, they revealed the brutality of his captors

"L – Le' me sle'p... I – I won' try anythin', I swe'r, jus' – jus' ple'se, lemme sle'p..."

He was crying now, his head rolling across Teyla's lap, his face contorted in subconscious agony. And, to John Sheppard's silent horror, a sudden coughing fit left a telltale trickle of red at the side of his mouth.

"Oh, jeez..." he whispered, staring in shock at how rapidly Carson's condition was deteriorating.

He'd already radioed Atlantis, reporting their CMO's injuries to his second in command. Now, fighting to keep a rising fear out of his voice, John placed another call direct to her Infirmary – relaying Kate Buchanan's advice, as calmly as he could, back to his equally shaken, horrified team.

'_Try and keep him calm_, _Colonel_… _from the heat and blood loss_, _he_'_s_ _clearly goin_' _into shock_... _it_'_s_ _too dangerous to let him drink_, _he might choke on it_, _but you can moisten his mouth with water_… _raise his legs a little too_,_ if ye can_,_ and keep his head low_…_ keep him warm_, _but don_'_t_ _smother him_… _and with the hallucinations_, _however much he wants to sleep_, _you must keep him conscious_…'

It had sounded so easy, but putting simple theory into practice was proving much more difficult. In spite of near frantic attempts to stabilise his condition, Carson Beckett was going downhill fast.

He'd stopped crying now, but the silence he now lay in offered precious little reassurance or comfort. If anything, its unrousable depth only confirmed John Sheppard's horrified suspicions.

'_Oh_, _sweet Jesus_, _no_...'

His eyes were still closed too, the lashes even more strikingly dark against a face that was now drained of all colour. It took a riskily firm pat on his face, and several minutes of oxygen, to make him open them again. Even when they finally did so, the glassiness within them still silently chilled John Sheppard's soul.

He'd seen enough combat, its horrific consequences, to know what that unfocussed blankness meant – prompting a quiet, barely calm plea to try and stop the unthinkable from happening to Carson Beckett.

"Hey, come on, Carson, stay with us... come on, buddy, just hold on, we're dialling the Gate now... just hold on for a few more minutes, Carson, you hear me...? Just hold on, we're almost home..."

"Yeah, Carson, you've gotta hold on… I – I mean, Cadman's waiting for you, so… well, I mean, you - you've gotta hold on for that..." Rodney chipped in – his face not the only one to fall, in complete dismay, at Carson's heartbreaking lack of response.

The special brightness in his eyes which Laura's name always invoked just wasn't there this time. And, to McKay's alarm, what little focus there _had_ been in those eyes had now all but disappeared.

All joking and jibing aside, Rodney didn't need a medical degree to work out the terrible, unthinkable truth. For all their attempts to save it, Carson Beckett's life was sliding ever more rapidly away from him.

The closest thing to a brother that Rodney McKay had ever known was dying, right in front of his eyes. And there wasn't a damn thing that the most brilliant mind in the Pegasus galaxy could do to stop it.

Faced with such a terrifying thought, Rodney now knelt on the floor next to Carson's shoulder – not trusting himself to meet Teyla's own stricken eyes as he carefully lifted his friend from her arms into his. He just hoped she understood.

The gentlest squeeze on his shoulder silently assured him that she did. If the unthinkable really was about to happen, if Carson Beckett really was about to die, then – well, it was only right, only fitting, that he should be held by the friend who'd known him the longest

Yet even as he took a coldly limp hand, so gently, into his, Rodney couldn't believe what he was doing.

'_This_ – _This isn_'_t_ _happening_... _no_, _this_ – _this just isn_'_t_ _happening_...'

Except it _was_ happening. The eyes of his best friend really were turning, so painfully, towards him. And he, Rodney McKay, really _was_ revealing feelings he'd never thought, never imagined, he'd do

"Damn it, Carson, hold on…! You're – You're the best friend I've ever had, Carson, you hear me...? I – I mean it, Carson... without you, I'd have gone nuts out here, and – and you've _got_ to hold on... we're going to get you home, Carson... you're gonna be okay, you hear me…? Just hold on…!"

"'m try'n' to, R'dn'y… re'lly, 'm – 'm... try'n'…" Carson whispered, his voice barely audible now – squinting painfully up at him, out of eyes that were becoming harder and harder to keep in focus.

He was trying so hard, so desperately hard, to keep them open, but he was so tired. Just so _very_ tired. Surely it wouldn't matter if he were to close them just for a minute…? Just for a few seconds…? At least then he'd enjoy some peace and quiet from the voice that kept nagging him to stay awake – the same voice which now rose, in pure horror, as Carson's eyes drifted inexorably shut once more.

"Carson…? _Carson_…! Damn it, Colonel, can't this bucket go any faster…?"

'_Only if ye get out an_'_ push_, _Rodney_, _ye great panicky jessie_…'

In the peaceful sanctuary of his mind, Carson Beckett smiled at the image it had now created for him. Shrouded in shafts of gentlest light, Rodney McKay's glaring face promised a lifetime of 'voodoo revenge' – just as, in the real world, Carson's body fell limp, terrifyingly slack, in his best friend's arms.


	6. Chapter 6 The Golden Hour

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Awww, thanks so much for the reviews !! Since the story is already finished, I'm going to finish uploading it over the next couple of days, so you won't need to wait too long for the last five chapters.

Speaking of which, as I've come to edit it, I've noticed how long this chapter is...! So, in time honoured fanfic writer's tradition, I thought I could either leave it as it was, all 9654 words of it. Or I could split it up into a few more manageable bits.

Of course, that _would_ mean a couple more chapters than the originally planned eight... a slightly longer wait for Shep's reminiscences about Carson's first flying lesson... oh, and maybe another cliffie too, thrown in for good measure.

Guess what I decided to do... ;o)

The chapter's title comes from a news article I read after Richard Hammond's recent accident. It's a medical term which doctors use for the first hour of emergency, life saving treatment. I just thought it was kinda appropriate for the story - and get well soon, Hamster !!

Chapter Six

The Golden Hour

This was what it felt like...? This was what they went through, each time he landed himself in here...? This seemingly endless hell of sitting…? Pacing…? Battling to ignore a terrified imagination…?

It was pointless, of course, but… well, if just for something to do, John Sheppard made it anyway – a silent, guilt-laden promise to his family that, from now on, he'd be a damn sight more careful

Just over an hour ago, he'd borne horrified witness to an unthinkable, brutally ironic scene – the city's chief medical officer, broken and bloodied on a gurney, being rushed into his own Infirmary.

In true, hospital drama tradition, the doors had then slammed shut on the desperate battle beyond – a white faced, shellshocked nurse assuring him that they'd 'let them know as soon as they could…'

Since then, nothing. Just the perverse combination of exhausted bodies and hyperactive minds. The inconceivable fact, one that couldn't be ignored, that Dr Carson Beckett now lay in his own OR, fighting for his life.

And to now realise that evacuating him so hurriedly to safety had contributed to an already life-threatening injury - well, that really was playing hell on John's already strained conscience. Damn it, why the hell hadn't they been more careful...?

All too aware of concerned eyes following him, John Sheppard met them with silent fury in his own - a rush of guilt-stricken words tumbling out of him before an exhausted mind could stop them.

"Damn it, Elizabeth, if – if we'd just got him here sooner… known what to look for... checked him out better, been more careful with getting him back to the Jumper... just – just realised how badly hurt he was…"

Already at his side, Elizabeth's hand on his arm was as compassionately understanding as her eyes – her voice holding the same strength that her second in command needed, so much, to draw upon.

"John, you couldn't have done any more. And you heard what Kate said about the internal injuries. If the bleeding was as slow as she suspected, there was no way you could have noticed it…"

Knowing, already, that he'd need much more than that, she then gave his shoulder another rallying squeeze.

"You got him back home, John… and you got him home _alive_. You could _not_ have done any more. And you know Carson as well as I do. If anyone can come through this, it's going to be him…"

Those last assurances had clearly made their way through the walls of anger and self recrimination – enough for John Sheppard to finally manage just the slightest of smiles, a grateful nod, before he moved on to share their strength.

Watching him, as proud of him as she'd ever been, or ever would be, Elizabeth Weir just hoped they'd be enough. She just prayed they'd be the glue to bring her shellshocked flagship team back together.

As one honorary member of that team still fought for his life, so another had taken his place – Laura Cadman's pale, tear-stained face struggling to find a smile for her CO's quiet encouragement as she clung to the anchor of John Sheppard's hand.

Beside her, Teyla had slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders, while McKay… Rodney… dear God, in all the years she'd known him, she'd never seen him look so lost, so vulnerable, or as so completely broken as this.

He sat, motionless, next to Laura, his eyes fixed, wide and haunted, on the doorway beyond them – his latest tumbling flurry of questions and opinions passing, for once, without any snarking reproach.

"Damn it, what's taking them so long…? I – I mean, why aren't they telling us anything, or… or… but – but that's a good thing, right…? I mean, no news is good news, that's what they say, right…? I – I mean, all the time they're in there with him, it – it means Carson's doing okay… doesn't it…?"

As much as everyone in that room wanted to answer his stricken questions, not one of them could. All those closest to him could do was nod in humouring agreement, offer a gentle pat on his shoulder.

"Of course he's going to be okay…" Elizabeth assured him softly, holding a trembling hand in hers – the steely resolve of leadership crashing, in silent agony, against the compassion of an equally terrified friend.

"You know him so well, Rodney… in fact, you've known him longer than me, longer than any of us. So you know how strong Carson is. How brave he is. You know he's going to come through this…"

Even as she spoke them, Elizabeth knew those last few, rallying words lay beyond her control. She was a doctor, yes, but not of medicine. She couldn't guarantee the survival of a cherished friend.

That task lay with the ashen-faced figure who now stood framed in the OR's open doorway.

Still gowned and gloved, stained with her CMO's blood, Dr Kate Buchanan had finally appeared. Even in silence, her expression alone revealed more in its anguish than any number of words.

And Rodney McKay's last awareness as he slid to the floor was his own whispering, horrified voice.

"Oh – Oh no… Carson, no… dear God, please… please, _no_…!"


	7. Chapter 7 Blood Brothers

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Ah, cliffhangers - don't ya just love them...?

I seem to have gone a bit cliffie crazy here - and my chapter count has gone decidedly ga-ga too. The last three each run to around 9000 words, so - yes, I'm going to whittle those down a bit too. I'll still hopefully get the rest of the story posted in the next day or so, but there are just going to be a few more, shorter chapters than I mentioned on my last note.

Now, back to the last cliffie... and just when Elizabeth thought things couldn't possibly get any worse...

...evil grin...

Chapter Seven

Blood Brothers

"McKay…? _McKay_…! Hey, come on, Rodney, wake up…!"

Coming to with a start, Rodney McKay stared blankly up into an equally pale, equally strained face – John Sheppard's solid grip on his shoulder slowly dragging him from the horrors of his mind.

"Easy, Rodney, it's okay… easy now, you were getting pretty agitated with that nightmare there, and… well…"

Still half asleep, Rodney stared back at him, totally thrown, before a near wild hope flickered back into his eyes.

"_Nightmare_…?" he mumbled at last, dazedly shaking his head before blinking around a crowd of anxious, gently sympathetic faces. John. Elizabeth. Teyla. Ronon. And, of course, the young woman who'd stolen his best friend's heart

Shakily managing to return Laura Cadman's smile, Rodney then re-sought their shared CO's eyes - hope warring with embarrassment as he shrugged off the lingering horrors of his imagination.

"So you – you mean Carson isn't…? I – I mean, he – he isn't…? He – He isn't...?"

Unable himself to say that unthinkable word, John just smiled and gave his shoulder another rallying pat while nodding towards the OR's doors.

"No, he's still with us, Rodney… still in surgery, but… yes, he's still with us... still in there, fighting…"

Not quite the words he'd been praying for the last two hours to hear, but considering the alternative – well, Rodney McKay would choose still terrifying uncertainty above that alternative every time.

Accepting Elizabeth's gentle squeeze on his arm, he then breathed deeply, regaining control – so grateful for the comfort of that contact as his mind replayed the horrors of its own imagination.

It had all happened in reality, exactly as he'd just re-lived it. Everything really _had_ happened. John Sheppard's restless pacing, Elizabeth's quiet assurances, his own idiotically babbling questions

Now they were all still sitting here, in this appropriately bleak room – just as they'd been in his dream.

His head was clearing now, enabling him to separate factual memory from roller-coastering fantasy. A brisk Scottish brogue, one which had sounded so poignantly familiar, had yelled out within the OR. Carson was bleeding out. Kate Buchanan had needed blood donors. And she'd needed them _fast_.

Staring down at the small square of plaster in the crook of his elbow, Rodney then winced in dismay. He'd never given blood before. After this first traumatic experience, he'd never dare to do so again.

He'd donated the obligatory bagful, sat up, anxiously asked about Carson, felt a bit faint, and… oh God, he'd never live this down

Promising himself familiar revenge for a more appropriate time, John settled instead for a gently wry smile.

"Yeah, I've got one too, Rodney, just like it, and… hey, you know what this means now, don't you…? You, and me, and Carson, we're gonna be like… you know, like blood brothers… how cool is _that_…?"

Rodney McKay's wide eyed face wasn't the only one to speak silent, eloquent volumes at this point. As his registered utter disbelief, Elizabeth Weir's conveyed the same degree of semi-amused despair.

The three most senior members of her command team, each capable of creating utter chaos between them, now tied still closer in bonds of brotherly mayhem. She could almost feel the migraine developing already.

Her mind was jumping the gun, of course, desperately searching for an anchor of humour and hope. The future shenanigans of her very own Terrible Trio still rested, precariously, on one pivotal point – whether or not Carson Beckett survived the surgery which now crawled into its second, terrifying hour

Right on cue, with surreal timing, the doors leading into the main surgical suite slid silently open. And in Rodney McKay's already exhausted mind, the quirks of déjà vu reached a new, terrifying level

Kate Buchanan stood, bloodied in her scrubs, framed in front of scenes of ongoing, organised chaos – just as she'd done in his mind, only minutes before, just before she'd broken that unthinkable news.

Except there was something different in her expression this time, a cautious optimism, that he almost didn't dare to believe.

"He's come through surgery…" Kate said at last, silently hating herself for what she now had to do. All the precious hope, all the wildly joyous relief she could see breaking out on the faces before her.

And she now had to bring these six colleagues, these friends, so very painfully back down to earth. For a critically injured patient to come through surgery was one thing. For him to survive the first forty eight hours after it was quite another.

As their faces fell in response to her sombre expression, Kate now did her best to keep that hope alive.

"I warn ye now, it's still touch and go, but he's holding his own, fighting with everything he has… he's fighting like hell to stay with us… and if anyone can survive what he's just been through… well, it's going to be Carson…"

Six heads around her slowly nodded, partly in exhaustion but mostly in helpless, resigned acceptance. They'd hoped and prayed for so much more, even as their hearts had known it just wasn't fated to be.

But hope remained. Carson Beckett was still alive. That fragile hope, for now, _had_ to be enough.


	8. Chapter 8 Reason To Believe

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Okay, I'm done with the cliffies now. I'd imagine poor Nelowl is sighing with relief for that ! And for Nelowl, and everyone else who have kindly stayed with me, this chapter finally brings us all a bit of light relief. Yes, Laura's about to hear all about her beloved's first flying lesson. Poor Carson - and that goes double, of course, for his teacher... ;o)

Enjoy !! And thanks so much for the continuing reviews, they've been much appreciated !!

Chapter Eight

Reason To Believe

It was a nightmare. Some awful, impossible nightmare that would end when she opened her eyes.

Except Laura Cadman knew her eyes were already open. It wasn't a nightmare. It was real. Undeniably, horrifically real.

Kate Buchanan had prepared her, as well as any friend and doctor could, for the brutal horrors that awaited her – her arm the first to slip around Laura's shoulders as Marine-muscled legs suddenly turned to rubber.

It still hadn't been enough.

Only yesterday, she'd watched Carson leave for Vora as the picture of cheery health, but now…? Broken and bloodied, his abused body cocooned in wires, tubes and cables, she barely recognised him

Somewhere beside her, Kate was speaking again, explaining, as best she could, the horrors before her.

"I know how upsettin' this must be for ye, lass, but everythin' ye see is working together to help him. After suffering such severe trauma, and prolonged surgery, Carson's body needs time to recover. That's why we're keeping him on life support here, until… well, until the risk of complications has passed…"

It was the speech she'd made, countless times in her career, to shellshocked friends and relatives. Few had been able to ask the next, most logical, often heartbreaking question. With, it seemed, nothing more to lose, Laura Cadman took a deep breath, and shakily asked it anyway.

"What – What complications…?"

Seeing the determination beyond her unspoken fear, Kate sighed while thinking out her answer. She'd made that first speech so many times over the years, she had it down to a sadly fine art. This second one, though...? Even after twenty years as a doctor, it was one she still silently dreaded.

"Well, aside from the external knife wounds, Carson's also been bleeding internally…" she said at last – keeping a consoling hand on Laura's shoulder as, with sadly earned skill, she quietly broke the rest.

"The most serious injury was a tear to his spleen, which caused slow but prolonged haemorrhaging. That's why he's been in surgery for so long, and why I put that order out for emergency blood donors. That's also why he's on the respirator. At the moment, Carson has no ability to breathe on his own. It would place far too great a strain on his heart, and the rest of his body in general, for him to even try. As for complications… well, as with any major surgery, there's always the risk of infection. So we've also put him onto powerful antibiotics, to control any contamination as much as we can. Of course, his temperature is bound to rise anyway, simply from what his body's going through, and…"

Laura nodded dumbly, her eyes still fixed on the barely recognisable figure before her. She was still finding it impossible to believe that it was really Carson lying there in that bed. Her cherished Carson, always so strong, so _alive_ – now needing a machine to keep him that way.

To the compassionate eyes of Kate Buchanan, she needed something to hold onto. A spark of hope. In fact, everyone in that room, everyone on Atlantis, needed that precious anchor to hold onto now. Just the faintest chink of strengthening hope to bring them through the terrifying night to come.

"I know it's hard to believe now, but Carson has a lot of advantages on his side..." she said at last, casting a smile of inspiring encouragement towards each and every shell-shocked face around her. "He's physically strong anyway, and fit, and… well, we all know how bloody minded he can be…"

Rewarded, albeit barely, with wry nods of agreement, she then gave Laura the very gentlest of hugs.

"And with _you_, lass, he has all kinds of good things to look forward to now. So many more reasons to live. He thinks the world of ye, lass, and… well, ye dinnae really need me to tell you that now, do you…? And I know ye love him too, just as much… there's somethin' very special, lass, between ye both. That's why it's so important for ye to talk to him, Laura, as much as ye can, even though he can't respond. Remind him of all those dreams and hopes ye have, all the plans you'd made before this happened. As I say, he won't be able to respond, and it may seem pointless, but believe me, he _can_ still hear ye. If Carson knows you're with him, lass… aye, he'll have the best reason in the world to come back…"

Laura nodded once more – finding, though God knew where from, the strength to return Kate's smile.

Within seconds, though, already fragile walls of self control came tumbling down around her. Then the dam burst, and Laura Cadman started to cry, all but collapsing into John Sheppard's arms. Beyond all reach of the comfort he tried to offer her, she cried as if her very soul was breaking.

_beep_… _beep_… _beep_… _beep_…

At first, Laura had hated that sound. She'd hated its artificiality, relentlessly invading her thoughts. She'd hated its clinical monotony, constantly reminding her of the precious life which it represented.

As that first, seemingly endless night had gone on, though, so hatred had given way to near gratitude. All the time she could hear that slow, methodical sound, it had meant that Carson was still there. That somewhere among all the tubes and wires and monitors, his traumatised body still fought for life.

_beep_… _beep_… _beep_… _beep_…

Now it had become Laura Cadman's friend. It lulled her to sleep when exhaustion finally claimed her. It reassured her with its precious, life-confirming sound when, as now, she drifted back to wakefulness.

_beep_… _beep_… _beep_… _beep_…

Now, as before, she'd woken praying that the first sight she'd see would be those incredible blue eyes. Or a shy, adorably dimpled smile. God, how she yearned to wake to his gentle, wonderful smile.

For now, though, she'd have to settle for seeing those beautiful eyes and that heart-melting smile in her safe world of dreams.

The eyes that met hers in reality were mossy green, clouded by the same terror that haunted her own. And while welcome and comforting, the smile was not the one she wanted so desperately to see.

"Cadm- Laura… you really should get some rest… some _proper_ rest…" John Sheppard said at last, rising from his own seat to come and crouch beside hers, all military protocols long since forgotten as he squeezed her hand. "I'll sit with him for a while. If there's any change, I promise I'll call you, straight away, and…"

Shaking her head, Laura forced herself up in her chair, wincing as stiff muscles twinged in protest.

"No, sir, I have to stay with him…" she insisted, hoping her smile had taken the edge out of her words. "I – I just can't leave him, sir… not – not while he's like this. I – I just _have_ to stay with him…"

Knowing better than to argue, not having the heart to even try, John smiled back at her, then nodded in the same gentle understanding. He was military too, after all. He'd seen, all too often, his comrades left to die in silent, isolated terror.

Having been through the same battle himself, he was damned if he'd let Carson face this one alone. And the least he could do was lift some of its massive burden from his young lieutenant's shoulders.

"He seems to... um... be rallying a bit… doing... well, doing a little better..." he went on, indicating the monitor next to Carson's bed.

"Yes, so Dr Buchanan told me this morning…" Laura's smile widened in open, unashamed relief – joining her CO in watching that precious signal make its slow, steady way across the screen. "Now they've managed to get his temperature back down again, he's doing much better…"

John didn't reply this time, simply nodding once more while he continued to study the banks of monitors and machinery at Carson's bedside. He couldn't see it himself, the various 'thunks' and beeps and jumping lines meant little to him, but - well, if Kate Buchanan had said there'd been an improvement in Carson's condition, he was damned if he was going to argue. And after last night, John Sheppard would take any hint of improvement that he could get.

The infection, traced back to the chafing cords which had bound him, had set in yesterday. And in Carson's already weakened state, the fever which had followed had nearly proved fatal.

They'd come damn close to losing him the previous night – hence Laura's refusal to leave his side.

Now, at last, there was a glimmer of hope. A welcome, if still only slight, sign of improvement. A sign which John Sheppard was determined to build upon as he glanced across at Laura and winked.

"Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I took Carson out for his first lesson to fly the Jumpers…?"

Genuinely grateful for this welcome distraction, Laura smiled tiredly back at him and shook her head.

"I get the feeling I'd remember if you _had_, sir…"

"Yeah, there's a spot on the south pier that's still missing its paint…" her CO retorted just as dryly, casting Carson a smile of brotherly affection as, passing Laura her coffee, he settled back in his chair and shrugged.

"To be fair, he really wasn't _that_ bad… well, once I'd managed to persuade him to open his eyes and... well, once I'd got him actually _moving_..."

It felt odd, and it felt wrong. But Laura couldn't help but laugh this time, almost choking on her coffee, as her proudly relieved CO settled back to relate yet another colourful tale of the misadventures of Atlantis' most reluctant fighter pilot.

"Yeah, once he got moving, he was fine... it was just getting him to _stop_ which was kinda hard, but... well, I guess that's where inventing the first emergency stop in space came in kinda handy..."

By the time John finished relating that landmark experience, both he and Laura were laughing out loud - so much so, in fact, that a subtle change in sound and rhythm around them went unnoticed.

_beep_… _beep_… _be_-_beep_… _beep_… _be_-_beep_… _beep_… _beep_…

He was starting to look human again. More like her cherished Carson, less like his half dead shell. Although he was still deeply unconscious, the death-like greyness of his face had subsided a little.

The respirator was still there, but it was now a means of gentle assistance rather than a necessity – as Kate Buchanan now explained, with cautious optimism, to the now familiar group around her.

"Carson's trying to breathe on his own now, so we're going to reduce the sedation, just a bit at a time. Once we're satisfied that he's strong enough to manage fully without it, we'll take him off the ventilator. That'll probably happen tomorrow, provided he's still stable. He's still critically ill, of course, but… well, things are looking rather better for him now. Certainly better than they did last night…"

"They certainly are…" Laura agreed, her pride at Carson's courage and resilience there for all to see as she gently brushed his hair back from his forehead.

The proud smile, though, didn't reach still troubled eyes as her concerns now shifted elsewhere – to the bitter, furious anger which her overloaded mind simply hadn't had time to consider.

"I – I just can't believe what those – those bastards did to him… what they planned to do to him…"

Realising the strength of both her words and her language, she then awkwardly met her CO's eyes – so very relieved when, instead of the rebuke she'd dreaded, she found a nod of agreement instead.

Even Elizabeth Weir's soft voice conveyed the same understanding – the same underlying anger.

"Believe me, Lieutenant, we _all_ feel the same way. In fact, I've already alerted Stargate Command. The only teams they'll send on the Daedalus now will be to find and release their other prisoners…"

She could have said more, offered comfort from what a shaken Steven Caldwell had told her – the perverse comfort of knowing that his teams had found over a hundred of those prisoners so far, and _still_ counting.

Men, women, even children, from all over the galaxy had suffered the same betrayal of their trust.

She'd said enough, though, she knew, as all eyes returned to the only prisoner who mattered to _them_ – the one who'd dominated their thoughts, haunted their terrified minds, for the last three days.

Yes, he was still alive, fighting to stay with them. But Carson Beckett was still a heartbreaking sight. Surrounded by monitors, snared in a spider's web of tubes, cables and wires, he lay totally lost to them

The bruising which had already marbled his body had deepened now, painting him in silent suffering. A deep gash along his left cheek, bridged by strips of plaster, was a mass of swollen, marbled skin. The rest of his face was obscured by a mass of twisting pipes which, in turn, fed into his mouth – each measured push of oxygen sent through them forcing his chest to rise and fall in steady obeyance.

And the rest of him…? The dressings across his neck and collarbone, covering the knife wounds below…? The bruising across his stomach…? Another mass of gauze marking the site of that endless surgery…? Well, those signs of suffering were just too much for an exhausted, disheartened Laura Cadman to take. Too much for her to cope with.

Instead her eyes drifted back again, to tearfully study the face she'd fallen so instantly in love with – trying to convince herself that, under all its swelling, bloodied stitches and bruising, _her_ Carson was still there.

She had to let him know _she_ was there, too, however unlikely it seemed that he'd be able to hear her

"I'm here, baby… it's okay, Carson, I'm here… it's okay, you're safe now…" she whispered softly, leaning carefully closer to place the very gentlest of kisses against Carson's other, deathly pale cheek.

"You're safe now, and you're going to come through this… you'll come through this, you hear me…? However long it takes for you to get there, baby, whatever it takes, you're going to come through this. And I'll be there with you, Carson, I promise you… every step of the way, I'm right there with you…"

Anxiously watching his face for any reaction, Laura didn't notice the reactions on others around her – the proud, re-strengthened smiles which now lifted at least some of the worry from six exhausted faces

Nor did she feel, within the confines of her own, the feeblest twitch of a single, gently trapped finger.


	9. Chapter 9 From Hell to Hello

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Aww, thanks so much for the latest reviews !! One of the great things about having internet access at work - you can use it during your lunchbreak ! So here's the first of today's updates !!

Yes, we're heading into the home stretch now. And as much as I love whumping the poor wee thing, I think Carson's been banging at death's door for long enough. Time to bring him back to the land of the living, I think - although getting there is _not_ going to be easy !!

Hey, I'm a fanfic writer - what else did you expect...? ;o)

Chapter Nine

From Hell to Hello

To the untrained eye, the latest monitor readings meant little more than wiggling lines across a screen. But for a doctor keeping watch over her patient, their increasing activity meant everything in the world. It heralded a crucial change in that patient's condition, which had Kate Buchanan instantly on the highest alert

After four days of lying in painstakingly controlled sleep, Carson Beckett was starting to wake up – soft sobs of discomfort, winces across still closed eyes, warning her it was not a pleasant awakening.

And it would get worse, Kate sadly reflected, placing the gentlest of comforting hands on his shoulder. Even under the most powerful medication, their strongest painkillers, Kate knew that he was waking into utter agony.

"It's alright, Carson, you're safe now… you're safely home now, son, it's all over…" she said softly, noting, in both personal and professional concern, that her attempts to reassure him weren't working. If anything, he was becoming more and more restless, flinching more agitatedly away from her.

His temperature, too, which had risen slightly that afternoon, was continuing to worryingly climb. Unless it fell soon, released him from its resultant delirium, she'd have to sedate him again, and – well, there was only so much enforced sleep that an already dangerously weakened body could take.

So for now, at least, Kate Buchanan placed her faith in a more old-fashioned cure for a restless fever. An electric fan kept a gently cooling current drifting across his face, occasionally ruffling his hair – a dampened cloth across Carson's forehead making the most of every sweep of that soothing coolness

If only to feel that she was achieving something, doing something constructive, Kate now removed it – rinsing it thoroughly, letting it absorb as much water as it could take, before very gently replacing it.

She'd already identified the fever's source as the rash which surrounded the cut on Carson's hand. A keen gardener back on Earth, she'd recognised it almost immediately as a plant-based allergen. John Sheppard's grim account of that frantic dash through Voran woodland had filled in the blanks.

'_He deliberately cut his hand_, _doc_… _left a trail on whatever he could reach so we could follow him_…'

Left to fester, unseen, in Carson's bloodstream, some form of alien plant-life had taken a violent hold. Now the best botanists on her team were working, as feverishly as her patient, to devise an antidote – leaving Kate to sadly reflect on the sheer cruelty of irony as she gently stroked back Carson's hair.

The desperate measures he'd taken to save his own life had now returned to further torment his mind. Something he'd touched during that desperate life or death trail had induced some deeply disturbing side-effects.

Trapped within the nightmare of his own subconscious, Carson Beckett was taking the trip from hell – his fretful sobs of terror now rousing two equally restless figures from their own fitful haven of sleep.

First to regain his bearings, John Sheppard was already rising from the bed he'd finally crashed out on.

From the adjacent bed, Laura Cadman was rising too, stumbling in her haste to reach Carson's side – sagging against her CO's supporting arm as, yet again, her hopes and prayers were brutally shattered.

She'd prayed so hard for this moment, waited so long for him to show some precious sign of life. And for that yearned for moment to come like this, as Carson flinched in pure terror at her touch…? It was almost too heartbreaking for her to take.

He'd survived his capture and captivity, the brutal torture which his captors had inflicted upon him. He'd survived his rescue, the journey back to Atlantis, the so nearly fatal loss of unnoticed blood. Against all odds for his survival, Carson Beckett had come through the surgery needed to save his life.

Bucking those same laws of probability, he'd lived through the first critical, terrifying night afterwards. Only time would tell if he'd survive the fresh terrors which now haunted his already traumatised mind.

Totally demoralised, those who'd shared those terrors with him now closed their eyes in silent prayer.

Wait. Yet again, all they could do was wait. Watch. Hope. And silently pray.

He was getting restless again – something that Kate Buchanan had already resigned herself to expect. In fact he'd been restless for most of that morning, as his return to consciousness slowly continued.

His feverish mutterings had been too faint, though, too rapid and fleeting, for them to be understood. He'd then quietened and settled again, pulled gently back into the calm stillness of deep, healing sleep. And for the friends who'd kept anxious watch over him, it had been the same frustrating story – relief to see him sleeping peacefully again, conflicting with shared impatience to see him wake up.

Now, though, Kate felt a renewed, hopeful excitement start to take a more optimistic hold.

Maybe it was her experience as a doctor, the friendship between them, that enabled her to see it. But Kate knew, just from this subtle change in his movements that, at last, the wait was almost over. After five days of practically living at Carson's bedside, her vigil over him was about to be rewarded.

It was a nervous excitement, though, as she watched the first telltale flicker of slowly opening eyes. Would he be lucid again now, sufficiently recovered from his ordeal, to recognise her…? Or would he still be trapped inside the nightmare of a terrified, delirious mind…?

He was waking calmly enough, even as he cautiously shifted his position again under the sheets. Kate just hoped that calmness would continue as, squeezing his hand, she softly called his name.

"Carson…? Carson, it's Kate… it's alright, Carson, you're safe now… you're going to be alright..."

In a strangely perverse way, his answering groan of discomfort caused her smile to excitedly widen. As he groaned once more, though, she grew instantly serious again, soothingly stroking his forehead.

"Aye, son, I know you're hurtin' like hell itself, but can ye hear me…? Carson, it's me, it's Kate… I'm right here beside ye, Carson… can ye hear me…? Carson…? Can ye squeeze my hand…?"

The feeble clench of his fingers that she felt in response may have come from the relief of recognition. Or, more likely, it had been an automatic reaction to the discomfort of returning awareness.

Guessing it to be the latter reason, Kate reached across to a small bowl on the table beside her. Squeezing excess water from the cloth within, she then pressed it gently across his forehead.

"Easy now, Carson, you're safe now… it's alright, Carson, you're home now… you're home…"

Roused by soothing coolness, and this gentle calling of his name, Carson gingerly opened his eyes. Blinking for a moment, they turned slowly towards her, frowning with the effort of concentration.

Those eyes were still barely open, though, making it difficult for her to gauge their depth of awareness So it was left to Carson's voice to faintly, and still so very sleepily, answer an entire city's prayers.

"'m… 'me…?"

The mask on his face had subdued that voice still further. But Kate had still heard all she'd needed. And she'd still managed to lipread the name which Carson's mouth now soundlessly formed beneath it. She was going to have to be quick, though, before those so heavily lidded eyes slid shut again.

Right on cue, as if subconsciously summoned, a dishevelled figure stirred on the bed alongside – the exhaustion on Laura's face lifting, magically and instantly, as Kate beckoned her forward.

"He's still _very_ weak, lass… and he'll be goin' back to sleep again any minute…" she said at last – her smile daring to widen, just a little further, as the hopeful face in front of her her lit up in pure elation. "But there's a _very_ sleepy wee Scotsman here, lass, wantin' to say hello to ye…"

The reaction was all she'd hoped for, as Laura practically vaulted the gap to Carson's bedside – her hesitant yearning met with another gentle Scottish smile as Kate patted her shoulder.

"It's alright, lass, ye can still touch him, an' hold him, if ye want to… just be _very_ gentle with him…"

Nodding in understandably distracted agreement, Laura gently slid her arm under Carson's shoulders, holding him as close as tangles of monitor wires and IV tubes allowed. Everything, everyone else around her was now totally beyond her awareness as, painfully slowly, those precious blue eyes flickered towards her.

He was barely awake now, struggling against the crushing tiredness that had finally re-claimed him. But then a faint, unmistakeable voice answered not only her prayers, but those of an entire city – five days of terrifying uncertainty finally ended by just three weakly smiled, faintly whispered words.

"L – La'ra…? 'llo, l'ss…"


	10. Chapter 10 Midnight Miracles

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: It's the call they've all been waiting for ! Now, who's going to get to the Infirmary first...? My money's on Ronon - basically because he'd flatten any poor soul unfortunate enough to get in his way.

And for all you Carson/ Laura shippers out there - yes, there's another "awwwwwww..." moment coming up ! Enjoy !!

Chapter Ten

Midnight Miracles

It had only just passed midnight, but that didn't matter. They still arrived within minutes of Kate Buchanan's call, setting a new record for crossing the city from their respective haunts – setting Kate quite a challenge as that city's flagship team barrelled into the Infirmary, giving a herd of stampeding elephants a real run for their money. Even Elizabeth Weir, that epitome of calmly cool elegance, looked rather more ruffled than usual.

"Sshhh...! Quietly now, or ye'll be wakin' them… and that really would be an _awfu_' shame…" Kate warned through a helpless smile - one which became broadly shared, in pure delight, as she led them, duly silenced, across to Carson's bed.

Its occupant, not surprisingly, lay deeply asleep, oblivious to the elated hugs and backslaps around him. Laura was sleeping too, her head resting against the edge of Carson's shoulder, her arm draped, protectively carefully, across his chest.

Under a tumble of strawberry blonde hair, her face held a smile of pure relief. Complete happiness. While somewhat fainter, obscured by the mask upon it, Carson's face held one exactly the same – prompting a deadpan comment that only John Sheppard would ever dare to make.

"If I'd known there'd be _this_ much blackmail potential, I'd have brought my camera, just to… _ow_…!"

Elizabeth's gentle slap on his chest may have put his light-hearted threat on temporary hold. A dour Scottish glare, a raised eyebrow that could only have been taught by one person, scuppered it completely.

"You do, Colonel, and ye'll have _me_ tae answer to…"

Peevishly thinking that two women ganging up against him was just a tad unfair, John looked around for support – dryly noting that the rest of his ever faithful team had chosen one hell of a moment to take the fifth.

"Gee, guys, thanks a lot…"

Scowling and smiling in equal measure, John then nodded back towards the peaceful scene beside him

"You gotta admit though, doc, they _do_ look kinda sweet, all snugglied up together…"

While maybe not entirely melted by that notorious smile, Kate's return grin betrayed a definite thaw. She was risking days, if not weeks, of gloating, of course, by admitting that she agreed with him, but – well, as Carson sighed and shifted in his sleep, and Laura hugged him protectively closer in response, Kate had to admit that he'd made a valid point.

"Aye, lad… aye, that they do…" she chuckled softly, draping a light blanket across Laura's shoulders. Reminded of Carson's need for healing quiet, and an exhausted Laura's need for rest, she then took a gentle hold on John Sheppard's sleeve - another of those finely honed Highland glares instantly quashing all thought of further argument.

"As much as I agree with ye, though, this wee lad and his lassie need their sleep. In fact, you _all_ do. So come on, all of ye, get away wi' ye now… don't worry, I'll be taking good care of _both_ o' them…"

She'd made the same suggestion, many times, over the last five days and had only rarely with any form of seeing that suggestion followed. Now, to Kate's astonished relief, that same advice was finally through a series of weary nods.

As Elizabeth led the tip-toed exodus from Carson's bedside, more of that astonishment escaped through a wry, self-mocking shake of her head. She was a doctor, after all. She'd spent the last twenty years making reasoned and rational, doctorly decisions.

But as she cast a final, proud glance towards a patient who'd bucked every medical odd in existence, all that scientific reasoning flew through the nearest window. From Carson Beckett's death defying recovery to actually seeing her advice being followed, Kate Buchanan could suddenly believe in miracles.


	11. Chapter 11 Shock Tactics

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: I must admit that I wasn't quite sure which of my re-writes to put this bit in, since it didn't really seem to belong to any of them. So then, inspired by a big mug of hot chocolate on what has been a thoroughly horrible, wet and windy day, I thought - hey, let's just keep it as a really little scene all by itself ! So here's the shortest chapter so far - quite possibly the shortest chapter I've ever written. Be careful, dear reader, if you blink you'll miss it... ;o)

Chapter Eleven

Shock Tactics

Kate Buchanan wasn't one for taking the obvious for granted. All things considered, she now dryly reflected, that was just as well – because if she'd laid any odds on persuading six physically and emotionally exhausted friends to head for their beds, to catch up on some sorely needed sleep, she would have lost her money – big time.

Not that she could blame those friends for being so reluctant to leave. After such a long, terrifying wait for a much loved friend to step back from an irretrievable brink, it was hardly surprising that no-one wanted this joyous moment of Carson's recovery to end.

And, on the more clinically rational side, he wasn't out of the woods yet – the further challenge to his strength and courage expressed in Elizabeth Weir's quietly worried voice as she glanced back towards her now soundly sleeping CMO.

"I know with everything's he's been through, we can't expect Carson to just bounce back from this. He's going to need all the support we can give him, and I don't doubt that he'll get it, but…"

"…it's goin' to be hard for him… aye, lass, I know…" Kate finished for her, managing a slight smile while she, too, pensively studied her sleeping patient. "Once he starts to remember what those buggers did to him, the shock's goin' to hit him, right enough… and hit _hard_…"

Dryly realising that her advice to rest would have to wait a little longer, she then led the way into Carson's office – noting, with a quietly proud smile, that every possible place to sit was very quickly claimed.

Ronon's massive bulk alone took up one side of Carson's desk, John Sheppard's lanky frame balancing out the other, while Elizabeth and Teyla settled themselves, with weary gracefulness, onto the couch-cum-bunk opposite.

With telling significance, Rodney planted himself in the seat next to the office's still open doorway – allowing him a clear, unobstructed view to where his closest friend now lay in blessedly calm, healing sleep.

Vowing that it was only a temporary privilege as acting CMO, Kate herself claimed Carson's chair – its snugness around her exhausted body reminding her that she was long overdue for some rest herself.

First things first, though. The plan to get Carson Beckett back on his feet as soon as safely possible.

Over a traditional 'midnight munchies' selection of tea, coffee, biscuits and power bars, that plan began slowly to take shape. When the delayed shock from his ordeal inevitably hit him, they'd be ready to help him through it.


	12. Chapter 12 Threats and Therapy

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Aww, isn't it lovely to have Carson back in the land of the living at last...? All his nurses fussing over him, no doubt - and all those kisses and cuddles from Laura...?

Of course, there has to be a downside to it too... such as round two of Dr Rodney's bedside manner... ;o)

Thanks again for all the comments and reviews ! And for those of you waiting for the next load of angst - stay tuned for (spookily appropriately) chapter thirteen !

Chapter Twelve

Threats And Therapy

Waking from peaceful dreams into pain-ridden reality proved to be very much a mixed blessing. First came the pain, its excruciating depth and intensity barely countermanded by coolly soft, comforting fingers. But at least each time he opened his eyes, Laura's smiling face was always the first sight that met them. And that beautiful face, Carson now drowsily reflected, could easily make every bit of that pain go away.

So could the realisation that he was back home again, albeit feeling like hell and death combined warmed over. But he was safe. Home. _Alive_.

Laura could hear it too, now, as recognition brought fresh strength to that still so alarmingly faint voice

"L – La'ra…? 'm – 'm h'me…? Real'y _h_'_me_…?"

If not for her fears over hurting him, she would have smothered him in a hug of pure, unashamed relief. Instead she allowed that relief to show in a broad, reassuring smile as she gently kissed his hand.

"Yes, baby, it's really me… and yes, you're home… you're safe, and you're home…" she soothed, having to quickly catch his other hand as Carson tried to fretfully push away the mask on his face. "No, Carson, it's okay, it's just giving you oxygen… you know it's there to help you feel better…"

With both hands now held in gentle restraint, Carson could do little except frown sleepily up at her. Despite his own knowledge of its benefits, the oxygen's unnatural coolness hitting his throat was clearly unsettling him. And when that frown deepened, Laura thought, for an awful moment, that he'd regressed back into the nightmare of his memories.

But then the faintest of smiles re-appeared - followed, moments later, by a truly wonderful complaint.

"t's no'… blo'dy… w'rk'n'…"

Caught totally by surprise, Laura could have been forgiven for thinking _she_ was the one on mind-addling medication. He'd just been through a truly horrendous ordeal, one that had so nearly cost him his life. The last thing that she was expecting to see, or hear, was a still _very_ sleepy Carson Beckett cracking jokes.

But then she felt her surprise give way to pure delight as she lost herself in sleepily mischievous eyes. He was back. Beneath all the stitches and bruises and bloodied gauze, her precious Carson was back.

All she wanted to do right now was wrap her arms around him, just bask in the joy of his recovery – the intrusion of now familiar company both heartening and frustrating her in equal measure.

The first to arrive, Kate Buchanan was already at Carson's shoulder, carefully checking his vitals – their improvement from the previous night sufficient for a broad smile to spread across her face. Replacing, to Carson's open gratitude, the oxygen mask with a far more comfortable cannula, she then gently squeezed his hand.

"Aye, it's good to have ye back, son… we were startin' to get a bit worried about ye…"

A _bit_…? Bloody hell, Kate now dryly chided herself, that was the understatement of the century. Yes, he'd be alright _now_, make a full recovery, but… dear God, it had been close. _Much_ too close.

As soon as John Sheppard had mentioned the bruising and distension to Carson's stomach, she'd feared the worst – and seen that fear confirmed as she'd led her team, at an all out sprint, into Jumper One's rear compartment.

He was bleeding internally. And, judging by the greyness of his face, his feeble excuse for a BP, he had been for some time. That was all she'd needed to know. The rest had been a frantic, life or death dash to get him to surgery

For all her experience and medical training, the extent of Carson's injuries had left Kate sickened – his whimpers of delirious terror cutting her to the core as she'd struggled to stabilise his condition. And when she'd touched his brutally abused stomach, those sobs had risen to an outright scream. A frantically thrashing leg had come damn close to kicking John Sheppard clear across the Jumper Bay.

For as long as she lived, Kate prayed she'd never go through such a heartbreaking experience again. Everyone who'd shared that experience with her, she knew, felt exactly the same way.

At least he'd woken calm now, and blessedly lucid again. Now, at least, the healing could begin. And the broken, traumatised body of her CMO, Kate knew, had one _hell_ of a lot of healing to do.

Revived by the oxygen's icy coolness, fragments of memory were already starting to return – the telltale change in his eyes, the hitch in his breathing, already bringing Kate's hand to his shoulder.

"It's alright, Carson, you're safe now… it's alright, you're safe now, it's all over…"

Even as he wearily smiled back at her, Carson had still sensed the lingering worry around him – his smile fading as he tried to focus oddly uncooperative eyes on a row of identically gaunt, palely strained faces.

Kate. Laura. Elizabeth. John. Rodney. Teyla, and… dear God, was he hallucinating…? Ronon too…?

It was _one_ face, though, the tears within its beautiful eyes, which affected Carson the most deeply – his weakly grinned attempts to reassure her as much for Laura's benefit as everyone else around her.

"Ye – Ye th'nk _I _look l'ke crap, lass…? Ye sh'uld see th' bug'er tha' gr'bbed me…!"

She may have smiled back at him, but that smile hadn't come close to reaching Laura's eyes – prompting another squeeze on her hand, an even weaker attempt to both reassure and convince her.

"'m – 'm alr'ght, love, jus'… jus' a wee bit s're… 'll be up an' about 'gain in no t'me…"

Watching a succession of humouring smiles, the grin then faltered as Carson glanced up at Kate.

"Or – Or m'ybe no'… Kate…? Wha's the d'mage…?"

Smiling back at him, Kate rested a calming hand on his shoulder while reciting the worst of that damage as gently as she could.

"Well, aside from a beastie of a concussion, you've also suffered severe internal haemorrhaging... a tear to your spleen, Carson, which... well, which was a right bugger to repair..."

Guessing from a shaky nod that she didn't need to jog his memory further, Kate then paused – needing to shut out some harrowing memories of her own as she quietly went on to break the rest.

"There was a sap-like irritant in your bloodstream, too, which ye had a severe reaction against... it had one hell of a grip on ye, son, and... well, I won't lie to ye, it wouldnae be fair, but… aye, you've had a rough time of it, Carson… a bloody rough time of it..."

Praying he didn't look as shaken as he felt, Carson just nodded, doing his best to dredge up a smile – his eyes not the only ones to stare in dismay as McKay made his own, rather less sensitive contribution

"Scared the hell out of us, more like…" he muttered, typically oblivious to the reactions around him. "You've been unconscious for five days, babbling out of your head for most of them, and… _what_…?"

As everyone round him just shook their heads, it was left to John Sheppard to dryly speak for them all

"_My_ advice with a bedside manner like that, Rodney…? Stick to the day job…"

Ignoring, with practised ease, the sulky glare that followed, he then returned his attentions to Carson – gratefully noting that his friend was smiling again now, seeing McKay's outburst for what it truly was. It was just his way, of course. The only way of expressing his emotions that Rodney felt at ease with.

For all his bluntness and complete lack of tact, the concern of an anxious friend still lay underneath – the tentative fingers which now patted Carson's arm, then lingered gently on his spare hand, speaking volumes for how worried he really was.

Even as Carson managed a faint grin in return, there was no hiding the pained tiredness in his eyes – prompting a round of far gentler bedside manners as Kate finished replacing the various IV units above him.

"Regardless of Rodney's bedside manner, Carson, you're goin' to be alright… you're fully stable now, and ye'll go on to make a full recovery. Aye, you _will_ be up and about again, just as ye said, just… well, just a wee bit later than sooner…"

Already resigned to that famous Beckett bloody-mindedness proving her wrong, Kate then smiled – making a final check on those all important, healing meds, before giving his arm another gentle pat.

"I know you just want to go back to sleep now, son, and it's the best thing for ye, I know... but before ye do, Carson, are ye still in pain…?"

He could be brave about it, of course, and say no. But his silently screaming body had other ideas.

"Aye, lass… jus' a wee bit… an' I'm awfu' th'rsty…"

"Yes, I just bet ye are…" Kate nodded sympathetically, passing Laura a small bowl of crushed ice. "Not too much, though… and take it slowly, Carson… just a wee bit at a time… aye, that's it…"

She'd had to warn him, of course, not to overdo it. But, as things turned out, she needn't have worried. Carson barely managed two, gently prodded spoonfuls before his scant supply of strength ran out.

A past master in the art of tactful exits, Elizabeth now leaned carefully closer to kiss Carson's cheek.

"I can see you're getting tired, Carson, so we'll let you get some rest now… okay…?"

"Yeah, take it easy, doc…" John Sheppard agreed, adding his own unique twist of mischievous advice. "Just be a good boy and do everything _this_ doc tells you to, 'cos I gotta tell you, she's _real_ mean with the needles... nearly in the same sadism league as you, in fact, and… oh yeah, let Nurse Cadman here take _real_ good care of you..."

It was good to see some colour return to Carson's face – albeit through a blush of embarrassment. Amid much laughter, he went even redder as Teyla stepped forward to follow Elizabeth's lead, placing the gentlest of kisses on his cheek.

"Yes, sleep well, Carson… I am sure that under Laura's expert care, you will soon feel _much_ better…"

"Oh, you can count on that… I'm going to kiss him and spoil him until his toes curl up..." Laura grinned back at her, favouring Carson with a playful wink – causing his entire face, even his ears and dimples, to turn the same shade of red as Elizabeth's shirt.

It had to be said, though, that her literal interpretation of 'kissing it all better…' had its good points too. Her latest flurry across his cheek was _definitely_ making him feel a whole lot better. And it would be downright churlish of him not to give credit where that credit was so enjoyably due. So from under a veiling mane of strawberry blonde hair came a muffled, sleepily appreciative mumble

"I – I co'ld g't used to th's…"

As laughter erupted once more around him, it had to be McKay that made his feelings peevishly clear.

"Oh, enough already…! I – I mean, _jeez_…!"

"'ou're jus' jeal'us…" Carson shot back, bringing another age old adage to quite glorious life. Nothing, it seemed, not even a perilously close call at death's door, could keep a good doctor down.

The same determination clearly applied to inwardly thrilled, outwardly miffed Canadian scientists.

"Am not…"

"A'e too…"

John Sheppard knew he'd pay for this, come his next physical, but… oh, this just too priceless to pass up.

"Hey, if you're feeling _that_ left out, McKay, you can always pucker up yourself, and…"

The response was all he'd hoped for, as a sleepily indignant voice floated up from the bed beside them

"You try, R'dney, an' you'll be gettin' a kiss you'll nev'r f'rget…"

Sensing that all sorts of ructions were about to erupt, Kate Buchanan stepped swiftly in to intervene – no mean feat when she was enjoying this most welcome battle of wits as much as everyone else.

Quite how her CMO dealt with these two overgrown kids in adults' bodies still totally escaped her. She'd only had to cope with them for a few days, and she was sure she'd already developed an ulcer.

The sooner Carson Beckett was back on his feet, Kate dryly reflected, the happier _everyone_ would be.

Taking a gently firm hold on each sleeve, she then steered John and Rodney towards the door – promising herself, and Laura too, an especially bracing mug of tea. God knew, they'd earned it…!

"Alright, ye two reprobates, that's enough… get away with ye both now, let Carson get his rest…"

Finally succeeding, with some help from Teyla and Elizabeth, Kate then returned to her patient – noting, in both personal and professional relief, that said patient was now soundly asleep. Cradled in Laura's arms, safe and sound, calm and contented, he was even smiling – another very welcome sign.

It would all soon change, of course, once his gently drug-dulled mind was allowed to remember. The mental scars from his ordeal, she knew, would not heal nearly so easily as the physical ones. But for now, at least, safely snug in his lady's arms, Carson Beckett didn't have a care in the world.

Making a final check on those precious vitals, Kate then offered Laura a proudly reassuring smile – giving Carson's arm another gentle pat, before leaving him to enjoy the best medicine he could ask for

All the meds in existence, she dryly reflected, couldn't compete with the love of his _very_ special lady. How vital that love's healing power would prove to be, in the long and painful days to come.


	13. Chapter 13 Truths and Consequences

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Okay, after the fun and games, it's back to the nitty gritty - and however gutsy our wee boy is, he isn't _quite_ home and dry yet. So, for this penultimate update, Carson and Laura have a _lot_ of talking to do. If you want to make yourselves a mug of tea, and stock up on comfort choccie, you might want to do it now... 'cos this is going to be a _long_ chapter !!

Oh, and a quick message for HyperCaz - I tried emailing and private messaging you, but kept getting an error message. Oddly enough, I think there could be a general problem, since I'm not getting the usual chapter addition alerts when I update the story, or the emailed review alerts.

Anyway, where death by squee is concerned, I can think of worse ways to go ! And if you're interested, the story I'm currently working on will put you in _hyper_-squee... let's just say there's a life changing event in store for both Carson and Laura... _and_ Carson in a kilt... ;o)

Anyway, back to the latest round of angst and suffering for our poor little hero... enjoy !!

Chapter Thirteen

Truths And Consequences

For the next two days, Carson Beckett drifted between consciousness and the sanctuary of gently drugged sleep – often waking just long enough to drowsily return Laura's smile, enjoy the softest of kisses across his cheek, before sliding back to his dreams.

As his strength slowly returned, though, so did memories of the horrors he'd experienced on Vora – his reaction to them noted, in growing concern, by those who'd shared that nightmare with him.

Five days into an already painful recovery, the shock which they'd all known would come, which they had all silently dreaded, finally hit.

Halfway through his gently chivvied, recuperative walk around his bed, he suddenly started to shake uncontrollably – almost taking Laura down with him, as she and Kate struggled to support his weight between them.

Now, as Laura settled him, very gently, back into bed, Kate Buchanan made herself tactfully scarce. John Sheppard's support was just a headset call away, of course. So was the rest of his team, but – well, the last thing a frightened and confused Carson Beckett needed right now was a roomful of well meaning mother hens.

So instead she just kept a discreet, watchful eye on her patient, offering Laura an encouraging smile as she quietly alerted the cavalry.

"Colonel…? Aye, it's started… it's startin' to hit him, and… no, it's alright, Laura's with him… I think it's best to let her try and talk it out of him for now, and… aye, lad… if anyone can, she can…"

If Laura was aware of this responsibility resting upon her, then she was too pre-occupied to show it. All she cared about right now was helping Carson through the trauma which she knew was coming – a fresh hell of anger and terror and pain that he was in no way strong enough yet to face on his own.

She'd sensed it throughout that morning. She had felt it rising, in spasms of tension and tremors through his body, as she'd held him through his walk. And she could see it too now, etched deeply into the stricken eyes which now flickered towards her.

Laura could spend a lifetime inside those eyes, an eternity in their depths of expression. As much as she loved them, though, all she wanted right now was to see those eyes close again. The pain that still clouded them, the tormenting hell of his memories, still tore at her heart.

The brave face he was struggling so hard to keep in place for her, she realised, was starting to break – relief for the release it would bring to him crashing against the fury at the pain it would cause him first

"Sh, it's okay, baby… it's okay, you're safe now… you're safe now, it's all over…" she said at last – the tears of anxious sympathy in her eyes coaxing one of his own to finally slide down his cheek

"I – I know, love, but – but… I – I was jus' so scared... jus' so bloody _scared_…" Carson whispered – physically shaking again now, his voice choking, as the legacy of that fear began to overwhelm him.

"I jus' felt so damn helpless, love, I jus'… jus' felt so bloody useless, wi' not bein' able to stop them, an'… I didn't know wha' to do...! I - I jus'… jus' didn't know how I was goin' to get away from them…!"

"I know, baby… but you're safe now…" Laura soothed him, easing him very gently more securely into her arms. Yet not even the security of being wrapped in loving gentleness could break that terror's grip on him. Closing his eyes against a sudden spasm of pain only caused more of those memories to re-surface

"Jus' – Jus' couldn't get away…" Carson whispered, still fretfully twisting against Laura's side – held so deeply in the grip of his memories that it took several anxious calls of his name to reach him.

"I know, Carson, but… Carson, you _did_ get away, baby… you're _safe_ now, Carson… ssshh, it's okay, baby, you're _home_…"

Blinking dazedly back at her, Carson then cautiously shook his head several times to clear it further – his attempts to reply to her gently thwarted by a glass of water which Laura now held to his mouth.

"No, baby, no more talking until you've had some of this… nice and slowly now… that's it…"

Refreshed by its soothing coolness, Carson gratefully drained the water down to its very last drop. Yet even as he settled, thankfully calmer, into her arms, Laura felt her own emotions begin to break.

They'd always found it easy to talk to each other. It was one of their relationship's greatest strengths. Yet at a time when it was so vital for them to do so…? A time when both needed so much to heal…? Those precious words of healing just would not come.

As his eyes closed once more, it was all Laura could do not to scream in pure, rising frustration. Yes, he lay safe in her arms now. But at that moment, Carson Beckett might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy.

Laura had forgotten one thing, though, as she pushed that frustration aside and settled back instead to her own, unique 'kiss it better' therapy. The sexiest, feistiest Scot to ever leave Glasgow was, as she was still learning, just full of surprises – hence the start he now gave her, as a sleepily chiding brogue drifted up from the snug crook of her shoulder.

"No' that I'm mindin' it, love, but you're – you're spoilin' me somethin' rotten…"

Recovering herself, and now driven by something she couldn't explain, Laura held him gently closer – much of her own pent up emotions escaping through an equally soft, vehemently heartfelt response.

"After nearly losing you…? After what that bastard did to you…? Damn straight I'm spoiling you…!"

Perhaps it was the frustration in her tone, something she'd not been able to hide, which had caused it – but two eyes of brilliant blue were suddenly wide open again, staring up at her in utter dismay.

"Oh, God, lass, I'm – I'm so sorry…!" Carson whispered, stammering on before Laura could stop him. "In all this maudlin' and – an' feelin' sorry for myself, I – I jus' didnae think how _you_'_d_ be feelin'... didnae think how all this must ha'e affected ye, and – an' all the worry I've caused ye, an'… an'…"

Now thoroughly tongue-tied, Carson then summed up his flustered frustration as only he could.

"It's – It's jus' that… I – I mean, all this, it's – it's jus' so… jus'... oh – oh, _crap_…"

Okay, so maybe not _quite_ the way she'd planned to get him to open up and start talking, but – well, through that blessedly familiar curse of dismay, Laura Cadman finally had her breakthrough. And as her relief at hearing it broke across her face, she was determined to make the most of it.

"Oh, crap…? Now I _know_ you're on the mend…" she grinned, gently kissing the tip of his nose – waiting for a hint of those adorable dimples to re-appear before turning more serious to reassure him. "And you've got _nothing_ to apologise for… all you've gotta do right now, baby, is just _talk_ to me…"

Knowing better than to argue, especially when she used _that_ tone of voice, Carson just smiled – nodding in quiet acceptance that his ordeal, however hard and painful, _had_ to be talked through. For his own peace of mind, and Laura's too now, he had to face, and accept, what had been done to him

"I – I know, lass… I know…" he said at last, still pensively studying the arms that held him so gently.

Throughout his ordeal, Carson had yearned for this moment. He'd prayed to be held, just like this. So why did its realisation, to be held and stroked in such gentle intimacy, fill him with such shame…?

Regardless of his still meds-addled mind, it took woefully little effort to work _that_ one out.

'_I have many clients who will pay most handsomely for such a healthily productive body as this_…'

A 'healthily productive' slave. God, it made his skin crawl, his stomach heave, just to think about it.

What the hell would his new owners have done with him, done _to_ him, to get at that bloody gene...? Drugged him...? Tied him down...? Tortured him, even, to make him co-operate...? Forced him, in ways he could not bring himself to think about, to submit...?

As fresh tremors ran through him, Laura held him gently closer - no easy feat, with stitches and gauze where her hands needed to be to comfort him.

She'd heard all the gory details of Carson's ordeal, of course, from her still quietly enraged CO. And she could see the aftermath of that ordeal, in the bloodied stitches and gauze which still covered his body.

But she was sensing now, in growing unease, that an untold part of it had left him deeply scarred – and not just from the humiliation of being sold into slavery by the very people he'd been sent to help.

More restless fidgeting against her confirmed already uneasy suspicions that it still haunted him – the shaky quietness of Carson's voice only hinting at its extent as he finally re-met Laura's eyes.

"You… um… I – I mean, ye know what… what happened to me, down – down there, with the…? I – I mean, ye – ye know why they took me…? What – What they did with me…?"

Always a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, Laura just nodded, holding him closer – then holding him closer still, as tightly as she dared, as another telltale tremor rippled through his body

Damn it, what the hell had those slave-trading bastards done to him, down on that planet…?

The answer was so faint, so choked with emotions, that she could barely hear it, let alone understand it. And when that understanding finally registered, it stunned her into horrified, outraged silence

"I – I meant nothin' to them, love… jus – jus' _nothin_'… they – they didn't even want me as a doctor... they didn't even want me for that… all – all they wanted me for was this bloody gene inside me, an'… an'… an' that's why they took me, lass… jus' – jus' to be... _productive_… _healthily_ productive…"

In this tumbling flurry of whispered words, two in particular stuck in Laura Cadman's horrified mind.

Productive. _Healthily_ productive.

"Oh, dear God…"

Five minutes. She'd been holding him, as protectively tightly as she'd dared, for the last five minutes. And if, before then, it had felt as if a galaxy divided them… well, now it felt like the entire universe.

Still shaking from what he'd just told her, Carson lay silent in her arms, staring blankly ahead of him – the glassiness in his eyes causing Laura to glance, yet again, towards the distant figure of his deputy. Kate Buchanan had been the soul of discretion all morning, of course, but in Carson's current state – well, one of his own, silently feared 'Sheppard Specials' would come in damn handy right now.

So when a stricken whisper suddenly broke the silence between them, it still sounded unnaturally loud.

"I'm – I'm sorry, love… I – I hate for ye to – to see me like this…"

Mentally scraping herself from the ceiling, Laura then smiled while tenderly kissing his forehead.

"For seeing you like what…?" she asked at last, tracing the gentlest of fingers down Carson's cheek – then sliding it under his chin, tilting his head gently upright so that his eyes had to meet and hold hers.

"Carson, you're the most open, most honest human being I've ever met, and I love you for that. I _love_ you for it. I love you for trusting me enough, baby, to see you like this, to – to help you through it. So how could something I love so much about you ever be seen as something to be sorry for…?"

Simple words, spoken from the heart. The words that Carson Beckett needed so much to hear. And she could tell, just from the hope in his eyes, how preciously close he was to believing them

But there was still another voice in his mind that still refused to release him from its brutal grip. A voice that had ruthlessly mocked him, scorned and derided him. Shattered his self belief, his trust – its legacy still haunting his eyes, still lacing the next tumble of words which finally answered her.

"I – I know, love… I know ye do… an' – an' I love ye too, lass, for – for sayin' that… I – I do, but… but I – I jus' meant nothin' to them, lass… I meant _nothin_' to them, that's all he kept sayin' to me... I was jus'… jus' some gullible numpty, for him to – to sell on to the highest bloody bidder…"

Beneath her own anger and bitterness, Laura Cadman now felt the first flickers of breakthrough hope. When Carson Beckett started to call people a numpty… well, you knew he was getting mad - no, make that _seriously_ mad. On hearing _that_ word, in _that_ tone, even the fearless John Sheppard tended to hunt for cover.

All silent smiling aside, at least this rambling tirade meant they were finally making some progress. The mortified shame was blessedly lifting now, forced to dissipate by a rising tide of Celtic rage. And if she'd learned one thing as a Marine, it was the usefulness of anger. _Properly_ channelled anger.

Now all she had to do was teach that lesson to the gentlest, kindest, sweetest soul she'd ever met. Well, Laura dryly reflected, if there was one thing she loved in her life, it was a damn good challenge

Inspired by the same words she'd spoken only moments before, she then allowed that smile to widen. Where she loved him for his openness, so Carson loved her just as deeply for her no-nonsense honesty

So some slave-trading lowlife's opinion mattered more than hers, did it…? Well, to hell with that.

"And his opinion matters that much to you…? Does it matter more than _mine_…?" she asked softly, taking full advantage of the wide eyed silence which followed to push her point _very_ gently home.

"Carson, _nothing_ he could ever say against you, or do to you, could change the way _I_ feel about you. I love you, baby… you're _mine_… and nothing… _nothing_, you hear me, will _ever_ change that…"

The slightest of stresses on a handful of words – yet their effect on Carson was contrastingly massive. Eyes of purest blue stared up at her, expressing more emotions than Laura thought she could count.

Astonishment. Gratitude. Relief. Joy. Hope. Even the first precious trace of returning self respect.

Then, without warning, and to Laura's open dismay, they changed once more, brimming with pain – whatever he was struggling, almost desperately, to say to her now lost in a torrent of unstoppable tears

Overwhelmed by Laura's faith in him, his guilt at losing his own, Carson now fell completely apart.

Doing all she could to comfort him, Laura then closed her eyes against her own conflicting emotions – relief for this most precious release crashing against her own guilt at triggering it so suddenly.

But then, wrapping him so very gently closer, her guilt and anger found a more justified target. She had no idea where the Vorans were now, or what kind of penalty they'd face for their crimes. But in the bitter, furious mind of Laura Cadman, even Hell itself was too good a place for them.

He was still trembling slightly, an inevitable legacy from the emotion that had just poured out of him. And those chipmunk cheeks, as she'd so fondly come to call them, were still too gaunt for her liking – still so pale, still damply stained by the tears that Laura now stroked so very gently away from them.

But at least he'd calmed down now, his eyes instinctively turning towards her as they flickered open. And what he'd just so adorably mumbled… well, Laura knew he'd mumbled it with nothing but love.

"You're – You're st'll… st'll spoilin' me, l'ss…"

Watching him try, so bravely, to smile, Laura felt her own widen in both pride and unashamed relief. She'd been about to leave him to sleep, assuming he'd now want to rest and regain his strength, but – well, trust the Pegasus galaxy's feistiest, surprise-a-second Scot to put paid to _that_ idea.

"Yes, baby, I'm still here… and yes, I'm _still_ spoiling you…" she grinned, gently kissing his cheek – leaning closer to nibble his ear, before growling a playfully menacing Mafioso afterthought inside it. "Why…? You got a problem wi' that, sweet-cheeks…?"

Hints of dimples graced those sweet-cheeks as Carson shook his head in wisely rapid denial. He had learned, very early in this wonderful relationship, that you did _not_ mess with Laura Cadman.

Yet even as he smiled back at her, lingering awkwardness refused to grant him him this much needed moment of levity. He wanted so much to share her smile fully, to enjoy the humour she'd tried so hard to bring him. But he just could not do it - his voice turning tellingly quiet once more as he sighed and shook his head.

"No, love, but… I – I jus' thought ye'd be… well, jus' – jus' a wee bit mad at me…"

The expression on that adorable face would keep her in teasing credit for months to come, but – well, until he recovered from this horrific ordeal, Laura soberly realised, that would have to wait.

"You mean what we were talking about just now… what happened to you…?" she asked gently – reassuring him, as Carson nodded through an uncertain wince, with another soft kiss on his forehead.

"Baby, the only person I feel like kicking across the galaxy is the lowlife bastard who did this to you… _okay_…?"

Waiting until that smile grew stronger, more convincing to her liking, she then smiled back at him, fondly teasing her fingers through his fringe.

"Okay, now we've got _that_ settled… you feel up to talking some more…?"

The response was all she'd hoped for as Carson nodded once more, reaching for the triangle frame above his bed to hoist himself gingerly upright.

Seeing him wince, Laura started to instinctively help him, but then proudly changed her mind. Having been stripped so brutally of his spirit and self respect, she knew that Carson had to do this for himself – his smile of relieved achievement as he finally succeeded truly the best sight she'd seen all week. The return of that feisty independence, his bloody-minded determination, could only be a good sign.

Re-seating herself at his shoulder, the smile then widened at the speed, and eagerness, with which Carson settled himself back into her arms. One of life's natural snugglers, she hadn't playfully dubbed the love of her life 'Cuddles' for nothing.

On the more serious side, at least he was accepting her touch now without flinching or trembling. The terror and shame that had scarred him so deeply was finally easing its grip. Another good sign.

And even as this reflective silence between them continued, Laura resisted the urge to break it just yet. This gentle stroking against his side, it seemed, massaging away his aches and stiffness, was healing him as effectively as any verbal comfort.

If truth be told, this quietly intimate contact between them was laying her own demons to rest too. The thought of him being enslaved into such revolting use of his body had left her privately sickened. So if, for now, he just wanted to let her stroke him like this, gently claiming him back again – well, that was fine with her.

She could so happily touch him like this, stroke him like this, just hold him like this, for hours on end. In fact, she now dreamily reflected, she could so happily hold him like this for the rest of her life. And while too free-spirited to be tied down to old marital traditions, such as losing her family name – oh yes, she had to wistfully admit that Mrs Laura Kathryn Beckett _did_ have a certain ring to it.

Carson had been quiet for so long now that Laura honestly thought he'd drifted back to sleep again – a quietly hesitant voice turning that assumption, and so much more besides, completely on its head.

"L – Laura…? What do ye… um… I – I mean, how… um… how do ye feel about havin' kids…?"

Until now, Laura Cadman had thought she'd faced everything that Marine service could throw at her. Not even this incredible mission, all the life-or-death uncertainty that went with it, had fazed her.

Without an Ancient drone in sight, Carson Beckett had just blown that theory clear out of the water.

She'd dreamed about settling down and having kids, sure… _Carson_'_s_ kids, but… hell, this _soon_…? Damn it, she was still trying to get her head around the whole Cadman/Beckett surname thing…!

The more she thought about it, though… well, she had to admit, the more appealing it became. A roomful of tufty-haired little Carsons running riot through the city, all as impossibly adorable as their father…? Oh yes, married life with half a dozen baby Becketts was growing more attractive by the second.

"Kids…?" she finally echoed, so sorely tempted to voice the inevitable, frivolous afterthought – the unusual seriousness in his eyes putting that '...ready when you are, Kilt-Boy…' invite on temporary hold.

Remembering his outburst against the gift which, she knew, he silently hated, she then smiled – wrapping him into the hug she'd already sensed he needed as her reply ended in the obvious question.

"So long as they're with you, baby, then yes… yes, of course I want to have kids… why…?"

That won her a slightly easier smile as Carson sighed, pensively fingering their intertwined hands – the nervous uncertainty of his next words sealing Laura's answer before she'd even heard _the_ question

"I do too, love… I - I mean, once I've wooed ye, an' – an' made an honest lassie of ye, of course I do…"

Too distracted to realise why her smile had suddenly widened, he then frowned and shook his head – the quietness of his voice betraying a fear that had always, and now more than ever, haunted him.

"But this… I – I mean, this gene inside me, love, it's – it's goin' to be passed onto them too, an'… well, all my life, lass, this bloody gene, it's jus' caused me nothin' but pain and trouble, an'… an'…"

"I know, baby… and the Vorans tried to sell you into slavery because of it…" Laura cut in softly – taking advantage of the stunned silence that followed to bring those fears gently back into perspective.

"But they _failed_, baby… because there was something else inside you that they could _never_ take… something stronger, more powerful, more precious, than _any_ genetic link you have to the Ancients…"

Assured by two hope-filled eyes that she had his full attention, she then gently made sure she kept it.

"They couldn't take your spirit, baby, or your courage, because… well, they're just unbreakable, and... and I'm so proud of you, Carson… so proud of you for surviving this… making it back to me…"

That won her another Bambi-eyed stare. And the first precious traces of a returning, hesitant smile.

"Ye – Ye _are_…? _Really_...? I – I mean, even wi' what – what they did to me, an'… an' everythin'…?"

Recognising this most precious of breakthroughs, Laura seized it with two very grateful hands.

"Damn straight I'm proud of you…" she grinned, inspired by a surefire way of restoring his pride. "Kicking those Vorans' butts like that…? I doubt old Braveheart himself could have done better. And I gotta tell you, babe, you've got Ronon converted to Glaswegian kissing in one _serious_ big way…"

"I – I _have_…?" Carson stared at her, in half smiling measures of flattered delight and nervous alarm. Six foot six inches of massive, morose, head-butting Satedan…? It made his own head hurt just to think about it

Laura's next proud, playfully mischievous words almost made it explode clear off his shoulders

"You sure have…and if you pass on just a fraction of that strength and spirit to _our_ kids, baby, then… well, they'll have every bad-ass, no-good alien in the galaxy screamin' away like bloody jessies…"

It hurt like hell, and her accent still needed a wee bit of work, but… well, Carson Beckett didn't care about that. Even as his still tender, stitch-ridden sides ached in protest, it just… God, it just felt so good to laugh.

And even as she fussed and hovered anxiously over him, Laura found herself laughing too – wrapping him into a gentle hug of pure joy and elation, which could only end in one possible way.

The delightful practice for creating those kids would have to wait, of course, for quite a while yet, but – well, until that wonderful time came, just holding him and kissing him like this would suit her just fine

Watching from a discreet, wisely unnoticed distance, John Sheppard smiled a proud, brotherly smile, allowing himself one final protective glance, before stealing away from the Infirmary's doorway as silently as he had come.

It was over. A nightmare that had so nearly ended in an unspeakable tragedy was finally over.

And if what he'd just _accidentally_ happened to overhear beyond those doors was anything to go by – well, life in his city, not to mention an unsuspecting galaxy, was about to get a _lot_ more interesting.


	14. Chapter 14 Resolutions

Taken On Trust

By Ann3

Writer's Note: Well, here we are, my friends - the last chapter ! I'm so glad that I found this story and submitted it, and have really appreciated all the reviews. Thanks so much !

I'm not sure when the latest story will be finished, since RL has to take precedence - but you can rest assured that you'll read it here first !

So just to round this one off, then, with a few more serious bits, a few more funny bits... and, of course, a few more shippy bits too ! Enjoy !!

Chapter Fourteen

Resolutions

Carson had slept now, enabling him to regain precious strength from the previous day's draining breakdown. When he woke the next morning, a welcome hint of their familiar twinkle had returned to his eyes.

To Laura's surprised amusement, both his appetite and love of a 'good mug o' best Scottish tea…' had returned too. The appeal in his eyes as they latched onto the mug in her hands was, as always, completely irresistible.

"Hey, you're _supposed_ to be resting, _not_ stealing my tea…" she chided gently, stroking back his hair – making what, she already knew, was a pointless stand against the power of that glacier-melting smile. "In fact, you're _meant_ to still be asleep. If Kate sees you're awake already, we'll _both_ be in trouble..."

Faced with such a dire threat, Carson then unleashed two failsafe weapons in his arsenal to defeat it.

"Don' worry, love… quick flash o' these eyes an' dimples, an' she'll be putty in my h'nds…"

"Yeah, tell me about it…" Laura retorted dryly, watching the rest of her hijacked tea disappear down a smugly mischievous mouth. Damn, with those eyes and those dimples, neither Kate nor herself stood a hope in hell of making any kind of stand against them

There was a difference in their expression, too, which now filled Laura with a fresh, hopeful pride. Instead of the shame which she'd seen in them the previous day, they now held a familiar, settled calmness.

"You're looking a lot better today…" she said at last, deliberately leaving it to him to say the rest – rewarding him with a soft kiss against his temple as Carson smiled and nodded, snuggling against her with what, to her helpless amusement, sounded suspiciously like a purr.

"Aye, lass, I'm gettin' there… an' it's all down to you, love, for takin' such good care of me…"

Such adoring, adorable flattery. Little wonder, then, that Laura now eyed him in such shrewd suspicion.

"So you're wanting my breakfast too now, as well as my tea…?"

"Well, if you're offerin', love, I wouldnae mind... 'cos I'm awful, a_wfu_' hungry…" Carson shot back, gazing up at her with batting eyelashes, then allowing himself a sly grin as this exaggeration of his accent worked its usual, irresistible charms.

Laughing too much to raise any further objections, Laura settled instead for a quietly relieved cuddle. Admittedly it was only a small slice of toast, but what a treat it was to see him finally eating again.

Carson, too, could sense that he'd turned a vital corner now as he settled more snugly into her arms – his voice when he spoke again, while still soft, also much stronger than it had been the previous day.

"Y' know, love, it – it was thinkin' of moments like this that… well, that saved my life down there… I – I jus' couldn't face the thought o' never seein' you again, an'… well, I could still hear ye, love… it was _you_ tellin' me to fight that… well, that gave me the strength to do it an'… an' get away…"

"You _heard_ me telling you to fight…?" Laura echoed, flattered and concerned in equal measure. She was thrilled that he'd found strength from her, but she couldn't help but uneasily wonder how he'd gained that strength. Had that alien plant sap, the thing that had so nearly killed him, been playing hell with his mind even then...?

Blushing slightly, Carson then nodded while hesitantly pre-empting her next inevitable question.

"It – It was just after their leader grabbed me, he… well, jus' kept braggin' that he owned me, and… well, that's when I heard ye, love… I heard ye tellin' me not to give up, to – to fight to get away from him… you… um… well, you – you… um… ye said if anyone had dibs on my body, it – it was you…"

It was quite a revelation – met, after several nervously expectant moments, with a smile of pure pride.

"With everything that bastard was doing to you, you imagined _me_ saying _that_…?" Laura said at last – taking the greatest pleasure in watching that adorable face grow redder as she gently nibbled his ear.

"Way to go on that imagination, Kilt-Boy…! And _damn_ straight on the dibs part…!"

Even his dimples were blushing now as Carson dissolved into shyly relieved giggles of laughter. And there was only one way, of course, to bring this most enlightening conversation to a suitable close – a soft, undemanding kiss returning shattered pride and stolen possession to their respective owners.

Halfway through the Infirmary doors, John Sheppard reluctantly slid his camera back into his pocket. There were some truly priceless notice-board pictures beyond those doors, just begging to be taken, of course, but – no, John now dryly reflected, hacking off a feisty, head-butting, syringe-wielding Scottish doctor really was _not_ a good idea.

Brightening with sudden inspiration, John then trotted happily off in pursuit of less dangerous prey. Obnoxious Canadian physicists, on the other hand…? Oh yes, they were _born_ to be embarrassed.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

His last waking memory had been the beauty of Laura's smile as she'd gently kissed him to sleep. To find himself now, frowningly blinking into a face that only Katie Brown could seem to love – well, Carson Beckett could be forgiven for thinking he'd been more than a little short changed.

And for the bugger to be eating too, while _his_ stomach turned somersaults of rumbling hunger…? Aye, Carson now dryly reflected, finding it impossible not to smile, that was Rodney, all bloody over.

Reading his thoughts, thankfully not entirely accurately, Rodney grinned back at him around a crammed mouthful of toast.

"Laura's just gone to get herself freshened up, and… um… you know, grab a quick bite to eat…"

Sheepishly brushing a spray of crumbs from the edge of Carson's bed, he then grew serious again – the nervous awkwardness on his face not lost, even on the sleepily amused eyes of his closest friend.

"I – I can go and get her, though, if – if you want… or – or get Dr Buchanan, if you need... um... well, if you need anything…"

Already sensing the cause for that awkwardness, Carson just smiled back at him and shook his head.

"No, Rodney, I'm okay… an' it'll do Laura good to have a wee break for a while…" he said at last – the smile fading slightly as he noticed that Rodney's face was every bit as tired as Laura's had been.

How to express his concern, though…? And, hopefully, coax out a needlessly troubled conscience…? Well, when dealing with the bundle of nerves and neuroses named Rodney McKay, there was only ever one way.

No muss, no fuss, no dressing it up in sentimental nonsense – just straight to the dryly sarcastic point.

"You could do with some sleep too, Rodney… ye look as bloody crappy as I feel…"

"Oh, thank you for that typically astute diagnosis, you prince of voodoo darkness…"

The reaction had been just as sarcastic – but not quite as sarcastic as Carson Beckett had quietly hoped. And the subdued, barely audible softness of Rodney's next words only confirmed his suspicions.

"I'm – I'm fine, Carson, it's been… um… well, it's you we've been worried sick about…"

"Aye, lad, I know… an' I'm sorry for all the worry I've caused ye…" Carson replied just as softly – resigning himself to the tricky task of going for broke as another awkward silence set in between them. "But I'm goin' to be alright, Rodney… an' – an' you shouldnae be blamin' yourself for any o' this… none of what happened to me was your fault, you… well, ye were only tryin' to do right by me, an'…well, you couldnae have known what all those nice things ye said about me would lead to…"

Startled at having his thoughts read so accurately, Rodney then managed to find a dryly rueful smile. He'd heard the same assurances constantly, of course, since their return from Vora. Throughout the nightmare of watching his best friend fight for his life, he'd had half the city tell him the exact same thing.

But the assurances now spoken through that familiar, unfailingly gentle smile had been the only ones he'd believed – the pure relief on Rodney's face thankfully lifting much of the nervous awkwardness between them.

Even so, his next words still held a niggling concern as Rodney re-met those blameless blue eyes. Although much of the swelling and bruising had faded now, Carson's face was still a tapestry of stitches and discolouration - the brutality which had put them there prompting another soft, quietly hesitant question.

"How much of it…? I – I mean, how much of… um… how much of it can you remember…?"

"All of it now, pretty much…" Carson replied softly, smiling his thanks for a glass of soothing water. "I – I can remember them grabbin' me, an'… an' slingin' me onto that bloody horse…"

Staring down at his hand, remembering the cause of its injury, Carson then sighed, swallowing hard

"An' I remember doin' this… it – it was the only thing I could think to do for – for ye to find me…"

Rodney was wincing too now, as he watched his friend idly pick at the bandage around his wrist. Memories of following that desperate trail were still as painfully raw for him as they were for Carson.

Struck by sudden inspiration, he then brightened again while fishing animatedly through his pocket.

"Hey, Carson…? I – I forgot we'd found this, and… well, look what I managed to fix up for you…"

Still lost in thought, it took Carson some moments to identify the coolly gleaming object in his hand. When he did so, a tumbling flurry of emotions crossed his face.

"My – My watch…!" he finally murmured, too lost in astonishment and memories to say any more. He'd last seen it as a bloodied mass of resin and metal, tossed in silent desperation onto alien ground.

Part of him had hoped he'd never see it again, so it could never remind him of the terror he'd felt. Yet there had also been a place in his heart for it, a precious reminder that forever tied him to home, which had prayed he would.

Under Rodney's expectant eyes, Carson gently turned the watch over, anxiously scanning the back of its case – his smile gaining just a little more strength as a newly polished blue and silver saltire glistened proudly at its centre.

When he finally spoke again, his voice wavered between delight and the lingering horrors of memory

"I – I didn't think you'd find it… not wi' all… all that undergrowth…"

"Yeah, well, it… um… well, it _was_ pretty hidden…" Rodney admitted, his voice equally quiet – guessing from Carson's subdued, tiredly distracted nod that he didn't need to press the point further.

Anxious to raise his friend's spirits, and his own too now, he then nodded towards his handiwork.

"I still got it all cleaned up for you, though, and… see…? It's working again, as good as new… just like you'll be too, Carson, once… well, once you're all healed up, and… well you know… all okay again…"

For all the fresh pain of his memories, Carson Beckett couldn't help but smile at that. With, perhaps, the exception of John Sheppard, few people knew Rodney McKay as well as he did.

Despite their vastly different natures and personalities, there had been an instant bond between them – a unique, special friendship which had survived everything, good and bad, that life could throw at it.

There was still one nagging mystery, though, surrounding his friend, which Carson had yet to solve. Quite why Rodney McKay didn't allow more people to see his gently considerate side was totally beyond him. Instead he insisted on hiding it behind those impenetrable walls of self-centred, insensitive arrogance. As fascinating as it was exasperating, it was something not even his closest friend could understand.

One of these days, Carson now dryly reflected, he'd get to the bottom of that puzzle, but for now – well, at the moment, he barely had the strength to tackle his own demons, let alone his best friend's.

"Carson…? Are – Are you alright…? I – I mean, if it's bringing back too many bad memories for you, I - I can take it back, and…"

Startled out of his thoughts, Carson then smiled as he sheepishly re-met that best friend's eyes.

"No, Rodney, it's okay… sorry, I – I was just… um… well, jus' doin' a wee bit o' woolgatherin'…"

The bait was there, in all its tempting glory. And rarely had Rodney McKay been so glad to take it.

"Must come from chasing all those sheep…" he deadpanned, pouring himself a fresh mug of coffee – the welcome laughter between them instantly dying as Carson's ended in a helpless cry of pain.

"Oh, jeez, Carson, I'm sorry…! I - I just didn't think, and - and... are you okay…? Should I go find you a nurse, or doctor, or… or…?"

"_I_'_m_ a doctor, Rodney… an' ye can stop your frettin' son, I'm alright... I jus' f'rgot I was in stitches already…" Carson assured him – the weak grin he'd managed to find for his anxious friend turning back into another déjà vu frown.

"I – I said that to ye before, didn't I…? When – When we were back in the Jumper, an'… an'… I kept yellin' at ye, even though you an' Teyla were doin' your best to help me… didn't I, Rodney…?"

Too deeply in mother-hen mode to reply, Rodney just nodded while still fussing over his friend – a soft, forever calming voice persuading him, eventually, to bring that anxious fretting to a close.

"I'm _alright_, Rodney… an'… an' I'm sorry for givin' ye such a hard time back there…"

"Forget it, you were… um… well, you were pretty out of it at the time…" Rodney reminded him – his smile returning, in open relief, as that deliriously tossing, cursing friend became a distant memory.

Yes, they were still ringed by stitches and bruising, but the blue eyes were visibly clearing now. And those eyes, even as they rolled at his fussing and fretting, held nothing now but fond affection. So did the familiar, playful insult which meant more to Rodney McKay that he'd ever publicly admit.

"Och, get awa' wi ye, ye daft bugger…"

Pulling an equally familiar face back at him, Rodney then nodded back to the watch in Carson's hand.

"So do you want me to… um… keep that safe for you, 'til you're up and about again, or…?"

Thrown for a moment, Carson then smiled once more, still fingering its case as he shook his head. On Vora, it had been broken and bloodied, so nearly lost on an alien world – just as he'd been.

Now it rested in his hand, safely returned – as he now was. Whole again – just as he'd be again. _Soon_ be again.

Rodney had recognised its significance too, since he was smiling too now, nodding his understanding. To anyone else, the simple fastening of a watch onto a wrist would hold very little importance. But for Carson and Rodney, it meant everything. As much as the very special friendship between them

It meant that the nightmare which had so nearly shattered their lives was finally, truly, over.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So far, Elizabeth Weir's staff meeting that morning had been… well, entertaining, to say the least. As usual, Rodney McKay was sulking, muttering darkly over 'scandalous invasion of his privacy.'

And it hadn't taken too much brainpower to work out who'd committed this most heinous of crimes. When he wasn't smirking across the table at Ronon, John Sheppard was looking _much_ too innocent.

Dryly wondering if these two would _ever_ grow up, Elizabeth cast a rueful glance towards Teyla – her smile fading, ever so slightly, as her eyes passed by a still noticeably empty chair on the way.

Carson's chair.

He was well on the road to recovery now, of course. Laura Cadman had _personally_ seen to that. In fact, he'd just been released back to his quarters, to continue that recovery in peaceful quiet.

And it would be several days yet before he'd even be allowed to take on the lightest duties, but – oh, what she'd give right now, for one of those wonderful smiles, the calming voice of sensible reason.

_And_ an aspirin. _Double_ strength.

The soft knock on the conference room screens came as a puzzling surprise to everyone inside it. Its cause, though, however unexpected, was, beyond doubt, the most wonderful sight they'd seen all week.

He was still pale, still reliant on Laura's willingly supportive arms around him to walk for any real distance. But the smile on his face was broad and unforced, full of mischief and life – and 100 percent Carson Beckett.

The first to recover, and the closest to him, Elizabeth had already risen from her seat to greet him – a proudly delighted kiss on his cheek prompting an equally familiar, pointedly ignored groan of scorn.

"Oh, jeez, pass me a bucket…!"

"Nice to see you too, Rodney…" Carson shot back, casting his friend a deliciously mischievous grin. Laughing outright at the scowl he received in response, he then glanced quizzically back at Elizabeth.

"I'm sorry to disrupt your meeting, lass, but… um... well, do - do ye mind if I sit in for a wee while…?"

Even without Laura Cadman's silently pleading look, Elizabeth was always going to say yes anyway. From her own experience of a chronically bored, recuperating CMO, Laura had her every sympathy. Her expression of utter relief alone prompted a wave of laughter as she gently guided Carson to his allotted chair.

"Yes, ma'am, he was… um… well, kinda getting a bit bored with watching Colonel Sheppard's collection of Superbowl games…" she explained, taking a spare seat beside him – her CO's reaction of outraged dismay met with a rueful 'don't shoot the messenger…' shrug.

"I've tried my best to convert him to football's skilful wonders, sir, but… well…"

"Skilful wonders…?" came the peevishly indignant response - one which had Elizabeth reaching instinctively for the coffee pot.

_Oh boy_, _here we go_...

"Skilful wonders...? A bunch o' war-painted jessies, runnin' round with half a metal scrapyard strapped to their backs…?"

John Sheppard's camera would have come in very handy at that point. His face was a picture.

If only for a few gleefully smirking seconds before the inevitable follow-up, so was Rodney McKay's.

"Nearly as bad as bloody hockey players…"

Trading 'I _really_ want to get out of here…' glances with Laura and Teyla, it was all Elizabeth could do not to visibly cringe. Was there the remotest chance that her chief pilot and chief scientist were going to leave it there…?

Like hell there was.

And, for once, John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were in perfect, united, stereo-indignant agreement.

"_Hey_…!"

As she dissolved into helpless laughter, Elizabeth knew her agenda was now completely shot to hell. But as the merits of hockey, football and curling hit their respective strides, she really didn't mind. At all.

She was enjoying this priceless debate too much, anyway, to do much else but sit back and savour it. Okay, so this three-way contest of national sporting pride wasn't doing much to ease her headache. If anything, it was getting worse, but… well, all things considered, Elizabeth knew it was worth it.

Her city was safe. Her people were safe. Most of all, her treasured CMO was safe, and sound, and…

"Skilful…? _Hah_…! Jus' you try curlin', son… gettin' that stone bang on target… aye, _that_'_s_ skill…"

"Shoving some hulking slab of granite against scoring a goal with a hockey puck…? Oh, _please_…!"

"Hey, you want _skill_…? Try catching a football flying at you from an all-out Hail Mary…!"

…and Elizabeth Weir now _seriously_ needed those aspirin.


End file.
